Honestly, Hermione
by Ordinary Princess
Summary: Ron and Hermione: StarCrossed Lovers a la Romeo & Juliet? Hardly. But will they EVER get it right?
1. On Her Own

Author's notes: Why would the smartest witch ever to come out of Hogwarts be in love with someone like Ron Weasley? Goofy, nothing-special Ron? And if she's not, why is he still invading her thoughts seven years later?  
  
Okay, this is my first fanfic I've ever made public. PLEASE give me feedback. Positive, negative - I don't care, as long as it's thoughtful. Thanks!  
  
Disclaimer: The characters and other immediately recognizable items belong to JK Rowling. Of course, I own nothing. Well, except for a vacuum cleaner, but if someone's going to sue me over that, then fanfiction is the least of her worries...  
  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
  
Chapter 1. On Her Own  
  
Hermione Granger put the finishing touches on her paper and hit the save button on her computer. She would print it and drop it off at the publisher tomorrow. Tonight...she would rest. She switched the computer off and sat back. Only after the screen went black did she realize that it was quite dark in her apartment. With a sigh she pointed her wand at the floor lamp next to the door and mumbled a spell. Her small apartment was immediately filled with light.  
  
Hermione glanced around her flat as if for the first time, and sighed. A few weeks ago one of her friends from university had come over. Kendra Tremayne was an American witch doing her PhD in Arithmancy, just like Hermione. She'd come to borrow some of Hermione's notes and was more than a little shocked by Hermione's little flat.  
  
Kendra had demanded to know why Hermione Granger, the smartest witch in Britain, bar none, was living in a pathetic little flat in a dowdy little suburb twenty miles out of London. "Honestly, Hermione. You write papers for all the best magic journals in Europe, and I know my parents have read a few of your articles back home. Don't they pay you?" Of course, Hermione was paid well enough for her articles. But - "And what about your parents? I mean, they're dentists, right? They must be making a fortune, with all the bad teeth in the U.K. Why don't they help you?" They did, Hermione had told her friend. But - "Then why on earth do you live in this squalid dump?"  
  
At the time, Hermione had protested the word "squalid." It wasn't that bad. But now, as she looked around, she had to admit it was. Hermione's flat consisted of a main room only slightly larger than her bedroom at her parents' house, a miniscule bathroom, and a tiny kitchen. The linoleum in the kitchen was old and yellowing, and more than a few of the bathroom tiles were cracked. The carpet, no matter how many times Hermione swept it, was never going to be really clean again. The walls were a dirty white, and the pipes had a terrible habit of freezing. Hermione had tried to make her flat cozy and homey when she first moved in, buying a bright, comfy futon and loads of decorative pillows and an area rug to hide the worst stains on the carpet. Her library filled one wall, even though she'd charmed each of her books to the size of a cheap paperback. Her desk was under the one window, in the space anyone else would use for a kitchen table. Well, Hermione didn't have a kitchen table. What was the point, since she rarely took the time to cook, let alone waste time just eating. It was easier to eat on the go. A few framed pictures hung on the walls, and a shoebox full of more photos sat on a pile of frames her parents had given her for Christmas, waiting to be sorted through and hung up. The door had a line of five different locks on it, and Hermione kept them all locked most of the time. In the kitchen, the two cupboards were nearly as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's, and one of the doors hung on loose hinges. Hermione's refrigerator currently held an old wedge of cheese, an array of condiment packets from take-out food, and a bottle of white wine that had been there since New Year's Eve two years ago. She'd had an orange in there until last week, when she'd finally thrown it out. A few dishes, a pot, a pan, and a painfully empty pantry were all that remained. Her laundry basket sat next to the door, waiting to be taken to the laundromat down the block. And that was it. Were it not for the pile of shoes in the closet and the toothbrush in the bathroom, the flat might appear uninhabited.  
  
But Hermione, like many brilliant people, took little notice of her surroundings. Maybe it was a little squalid, but her flat was a few steps from the train station and a short commute to the university. It was inexpensive, and big enough for her desk and her books. It didn't have a fireplace, but she (like her best friend Harry) didn't like traveling by floo powder anyway. The futon could be turned into a couch in case she ever had guests, and it made a comfortable enough bed. Yes, some of her fellow students said she lived like a nun. She dismissed those people as petty materialists, and she thought their time would be much better spent trying to do better at their classes. It was true she rarely went out, and she never invited people over, but really, she was here to work, not play. If she wanted to play she would have married Ron Weasley when he asked her.  
  
She sighed again. She always sighed when she thought about Ron.  
  
***  
  
After they graduated from Hogwarts, the invincible three went their separate ways. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, opted to take a truncated course from Dumbledore himself and got a certificate in Defense Against the Dark Arts before becoming an Auror. Voldemort was still around, after all. Harry was living out his destiny by fighting the Dark Lord. Voldemort had disappeared onto the Continent during their seventh year at Hogwarts, but his death eaters were still at work in Britain, preparing for their lord's return. Harry needed to fight them. Ginny Weasley - no, Ginny Potter now, Hermione reminded herself - feared for her husband's life almost on a daily basis, but she had never ceased adoring Harry like she had when she was ten. Harry had waited until Ginny graduated from Cambridge before he proposed, but they'd been married last November, and they were expecting their first child in six months, shortly after Hermione was scheduled to defend her doctoral thesis.  
  
After Hogwarts, the whole world was before Hermione. On the one hand, the Ministry of Magic wanted her to work for them. She was, after all, the smartest witch to come out of Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore...and she had the makings for greatness even beyond that - or so the recruiters flattered her. On the other hand, she'd been offered scholarships to wizarding universities in Canada, France, Great Britain, and Ireland. And then there was Ron. He wanted to marry her. He'd even proposed the night before graduation. But Hermione had been building castles in the sky in which the library was filled with her academic papers, and not posters of the Chudley Cannons. She liked Ron - perhaps even loved him. But she had never had much patience for his immature ways. She turned him down, and hadn't seen him since.  
  
After Hermione refused his hand, Ron surprised everyone by getting accepted to an American university in spite of his average grades. Hermione heard about what he was doing every now and then, usually from Harry or Ginny, but Ron never wrote her once. Not even when he discovered the ease of e-mail as opposed to always sending an owl. After he graduated he had been recruited to join the American branch of Aurors, and he'd done it. He'd been on a mission in Malaysia when Harry and Ginny got married, missing his best friend's and only sister's wedding. Harry probably thought he was telling Hermione something she wanted to hear when he told her how Ron was doing. "Honestly, I think you turning him down was the best thing for him, 'Mione. He's a brilliant Auror, you know. Focused and serious. Like all he thinks about is tracking death eaters across the globe."  
  
Hermione knew what Harry meant, but that didn't stop the hurt from welling up inside. Ginny had smacked her new husband and apologized to Hermione. But the older woman only blinked a few times and smiled. "Nonsense, Ginny. Harry's right. I'm glad that Ron is focused at last. I thought it was impossible."  
  
The wedding feast was pleasant, and Hermione had kept in touch with the Potters ever since. Of course, they never came to see her. Harry was too busy chasing all over the world trying to defeat evil. And Ginny had a life of her own in the small house not far from the Burrow. They were all too busy, really, to keep up by anything other than letters. That suited Hermione just fine. She could write anything in a letter.  
  
Of course, it would have been nice to hear from Ron once in awhile, too. He knew where she was; Ginny had told him. So had Harry. And Hermione had no idea where to send an owl for it to reach him. He could have written. He should have written. They'd been best friends for years and years, after all. Fool.  
  
  
  
A/N: Right, so, as a first-time contributor to the world of RW/HG fanfiction, I'm BEGGING you to review. I crave tips, suggestions, and ideas - for story and grammar alike. :) 


	2. Labor Pains and Broken Fingers

Author's notes: After the introductory background of chapter 1, we follow Hermione out of her cave and into the delivery room.  
  
Still my first fic, just chapter 2. I'm still dying for your responses.   
  
Disclaimer: Since last posting, I own more things (a fresh new bag of books!), but still none of the characters in this story. Well, except for Gwen and Anna. And I don't exactly own them, since they don't really exist... but JKR owns the important ones.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 2. Labor Pains and Broken Fingers  
  
Hermione had just stepped off the train at her stop when an owl passed overhead. She looked up instinctively and caught the parchment scroll that fluttered down toward her. Recognizing the seal and the handwriting as Harry's, she read it eagerly as she walked through the five o'clock rush of commuters. To them, she was just another anonymous face. Sometimes, this bothered her. But today had been a good day. She was just returning from a meeting with her publisher, and they wanted to publish her doctoral thesis! Hermione Granger, PhD was about to become a household name.  
  
...Well, maybe household name was too strong a distinction, she thought with a small smile. Few witches or wizards would find her "Arithmantic Equations in the Ming Dynasty: Victory and Defeat by the Numbers" a truly compelling read. But the next time she went into Flourish & Blotts...  
  
Hermione -  
Time's come. Ginny needs you. Me, too.  
--Harry  
  
Hermione stopped still on the footpath and looked at the bit of parchment again, feeling momentarily foolish. Then realization struck. Ginny was having her baby! Years ago, when Ginny had confided all her secret (and not-so-secret) hopes and dreams to Hermione, the girls had promised to be at each other's side for all the big events of life: births, deaths, weddings, and feasts. So far, Hermione had been Ginny's maid of honor at her wedding, had been her mentor at Cambridge, and would be her first child's godmother. Ginny had done her part by going to Hermione's various graduation ceremonies. Harry had come in his wife's place to the last one, as Ginny had been bedridden and forbidden to travel in the late stages of her pregnancy.  
  
Her own good news forgotten, Hermione ducked out of sight, then apparated to St. Mungo's hospital, maternity ward. She appeared smack in the middle of a waiting room crowded with red heads. It appeared the entire Weasley clan had shown up for the event. Hermione tried not to laugh. What did they think they could do, all of them? Still, she was glad to see them. She loved the Weasleys like a second family.  
  
She sighed.  
  
"Hermione! Hey!" one of the twins called across the waiting room. She noticed he was sitting with a black-haired little girl and figured it had to be Fred. George's wife was as blonde as could be, and they only had two red-haired sons. Hermione made her way to Fred with a smile.  
  
"Hello, Fred. Where's Gwen?" Neither of the twins had ended up marrying their Hogwarts sweethearts. Gwen was a Muggle, and a ballerina, Fred had met in London. Funny, practical joke playing, never serious Fred Weasley had fallen in love with a graceful, ethereal beauty who seemed to have nothing in common with him. But she'd loved him, too. Somehow, the unlikely pair complemented each other. Hermione knew how that could be...but she was not here to think about Ron.  
  
"She's in New York for a couple of weeks. Anna and I are living like bachelors until she comes back."  
  
Hermione laughed. Gwen was many things, but a homemaker was not one of them. Fred and Gwen lived as bohemian a life as Hermione did herself. And Anna (named for Anna Pavlova, the great Russian ballerina she took after) thrived in such an atmosphere...much to the disapproval of her grandmother.  
  
"Hermione!" she called, rushing over - if a small, round witch could be said to rush anywhere. "What are you doing here talking to Fred? Hello, Anna. Do you have a kiss for your nanna?" Molly Weasley bent down to receive her granddaughter's embrace before straightening and becoming businesslike once more. "They're waiting for you in the delivery room. Remember? Harry wanted the godparents to be there, too."  
  
Hermione had forgotten. With finals and defending her Arithmancy thesis and preparing her resume for the Ministry of Magic and now signing a publishing deal, she'd forgotten many of the smaller details of the outside world: cooking, cleaning, keeping in touch with her dentist parents and her best friends, etc. But now she remembered. Harry, due to his love-starved childhood, wanted his children to be surrounded by family from the first instant. Hermione supposed that was why all the Weasleys were at St Mungo's. Well, so many of them, anyway. She hadn't taken the time to see if all of them were there. She really thought Harry and Ginny were overdoing this family thing a bit, having her in the delivery room - after all, she was only supposed to be the child's godmother.   
  
Of course, she reminded herself, Harry was the arch-nemesis of the most dangerous and evil being the world had ever known. He probably wanted his child's godparents there just in case. After all, it was quite possible that... No! She would not think like that, today of all days. Hermione picked her way through the crowd once more and walked to the delivery room. After having an anti-bacterial spell cast over her, she was permitted to enter the inner sanctum.  
  
"Harry Potter! How - could - you - do - this - to - me?!!" came a cry of frustration and pain from the birthing chair. Ginny Potter was very clearly experiencing more than a little labor pain. Harry stood beside her, holding her hand and grimacing. Hermione's normally observant eyes saw why. Ginny was squeezing her husband's hand so hard she was probably breaking his fingers.  
  
"You're doing brilliantly, Gin. You're beautiful. I love you." He kept up the soothing encouragement, ignoring the pain in his hand. Hermione smiled at her oldest friend. He really was a good man, Harry. He'd give his life for Ginny. For anyone he considered family. And Harry considered a lot of people "family."  
  
"Hermione, tell this git husband of mine to shut up!" Ginny shouted, seeing her friend at last. "Beautiful - hah! I'll give him beautiful if I ever have to go through this again!" She bore down, according to the doctor's instructions, and swore like a sailor.  
  
With that welcome, Hermione stepped to the other side of the bed and took Ginny's other hand. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the fiery young woman. Then Ginny managed to stop any laughter from welling up in Hermione as she crushed Hermione's fingers in her Herculean grip. Hermione gasped at the sudden pain, but withstood it stoically as she considered what Ginny was going through. "They say it gets easier every time," she told her friend, by way of encouragement.  
  
Ginny grunted. "Oh, honestly, Hermione! I'd like to hear you say that when you're trying to squeeze a watermelon out of your body," she cursed sarcastically, causing Hermione to seek out Harry's eyes with her own. They shared a look of amused commiseration but wisely said no more. Ginny pushed one more time, and screamed bloody murder. Then she collapsed, exhausted, as they heard the first faint squall of life from the tiny baby.  
  
Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes at the sight of Harry and Ginny's new son. Then she felt her throbbing hand being released, and she stepped back. For a minute, she felt the pangs of envy as she watched the new family share their first moments together. They were all crying, Ginny, Harry, and the baby. Hermione took a further step back, watching the three through tear-blurred eyes, and bumped into someone behind her. Assuming it was one of the attending nurses, Hermione apologized and stepped away. "Oh, excuse me," she apologized, turning. "I didn't see - Ron?"  
  
  
A/N: As Sally Field said, "You love me, you really love me!" Reading your reviews so far has given me the greatest ego boost. Seriously, I was shocked by your positive responses. Not a single, "That was so predictable; it bites," in the bunch! We'll see if I can remain in your good graces.  
  
ps - I'm totally technically incompetent, and am having minor difficulty with fonts, italics, etc. on ff.net. If you can tell me how to get my italics to transfer, I'd be forever in your debt - at least for a week. 


	3. Everything Changes, Everything Remains t...

Author's notes: Yes, Ron has made his appearance. This chapter is from his perspective.  
  
Disclaimer: You know, JK (yes, we're on a first initial basis) just rang, and she told me to dispense with the disclaimers, since she really doesn't want my vacuum cleaner anyway. But then I reminded her about the new bag of books, and she changed her mind. If you recognize it from a HP book, it's not mine. I'm just borrowing it. If you don't recognize it, well, let's call it mine, eh?  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 3. Everything Changes, Everything Remains the Same  
  
Ron Weasley was in Washington, D.C. when he received the owl from his best friend (and now brother-in-law). Luckily, it had been night when the owl tapped at his hotel window. Those mad Americans would probably take pictures and send them to the "National Enquirer" if Ron got the owl in the day. Plus, it would have interrupted his work.  
  
On a tip from someone close to the Aurors, he'd infiltrated the Secret Service. No, the current US President was not a Death Eater, but the Secretary of Defense certainly seemed to be leaning that way. Ron's job was to oust the Secretary of Defense before he mobilized a significant magical American population to Voldemort's side. The thought of his mission thrilled him. Discussing strategies with his undercover team made his day. It was even better than wizard chess, being an Auror was.  
  
When he got the owl from Harry, though, Ron called in sick. He'd missed his best friend's wedding on a flimsy excuse that he was needed in Malaysia, just so he could avoid an awkward encounter with Hermione Granger. He wasn't going to miss the birth of his godson (for Ron had no doubt the first Potter baby would be a boy) just because the American Secretary of Defense might choose today to publicly align himself with the Dark side. He had immediately apparated to St. Mungo's delivery room, not even stopping to say hello to his family (most of whom he hadn't seen in three years) or subject himself to the cleansing spell.   
  
One sight of his baby sister, like that, though, and Mr. I-face-death-a-hundred-times-a-day quailed slightly and took up his post as far from the birthing as he could get without actually leaving the room. Ginny, certainly not at her best, saw her brother shrink back and cast some truly choice insults his way. Ron, who had mellowed since his time at Hogwarts, took it all in stride and tried not to laugh.  
  
A minute later, Ginny was cursing the day she met Harry Potter, and the door opened to admit someone Ron had hoped never to see again. Hermione.  
  
She didn't see him at all, though, and he was able to observe her at leisure. Thankful to have something else to focus on besides the horrible sounds of birth coming from Ginny, Ron gazed at Hermione. She hadn't changed a bit. Ron wondered if she'd put a youth spell on herself (after all, she was the smartest witch in Britain) or if he was just being sentimental. He looked again, searching for any sign of change.  
  
Well, he thought, she wasn't telling anyone what to do, for once. He shook his head. That was unfair. Just because she'd always told him what to do when they were at Hogwarts, it didn't follow that she was always bossing everyone. And even if it did -   
  
She stood there, her back to him, comforting Ginny however she could. Ron finally began making out the smallest differences almost seven years had made. Hermione's hair was as bushy as ever, but she seemed to have finally worked out a way to contain it. It was twisted up in a bun high on her head, but even so fiercely contained, a few tendrils had escaped down her neck. Ron had never seen Hermione's neck so exposed before, and the sight of that milky expanse damaged his resolve more than if she had thrown herself at his feet and begged him to take her back.  
  
Not that Hermione would ever do such a thing.  
  
She was thinner, too, Ron thought. Almost - sallow. But of course, that was just old hurt speaking. Hermione still looked as good as he remembered. She was wearing Muggle clothes - no surprise there - in the form of a soft-looking brown sweater and a pair of blue jeans. Ginny had e-mailed Ron about Hermione's graduation last month, and to his eyes, she still looked like a student. And even though he could only see her back, he was well aware of how well those Muggle clothes fit Hermione.  
  
Ron returned his attention to the important event he was supposed to be witnessing when he heard the tiny wail of a new baby. His eyes shot to the tiny bundle as the doctor handed it to Harry to hand to Ginny. Tears appeared in Ron's eyes, and he blinked them back before anyone could see. His face wore the same goofy grin it had done all his life, whenever he received some sort of praise or prize. His new nephew was certainly the best prize ever - Oof!  
  
"Oh, excuse me. I didn't - Ron?"  
  
Ron looked down to see Hermione gazing up at him with shock in her warm brown eyes. He suddenly didn't know what to do. It was like the first time they kissed, all over again. In another moment, though, he was master of the situation. He brought a finger to his lips and hushed her. "Let's leave them together for a minute."  
  
Silently they made their escape, giving Harry and Ginny their precious moment. Ron took Hermione's hand and disapparated, reappearing in the hall. There, she wrenched her hand from his with a glare. "I think your sister broke my hand," she told him.  
  
Ron took one look at Hermione's swollen hand and did something he hadn't done in years - not even in his dreams. He apologized to her. "Sorry, 'Mione. I forgot. Let's get that taken care of." He put his arm around her shoulders and shepherded her to the nearest empty room. He opened an unmarked door and muttered, "Lumos," just loud enough for the flourescent light to respond. The room was just another small generic examination room in the wizard hospital. Hermione was too surprised to object when he helped her up onto an examining table and gently probed the bones in her hand. As he worked, he muttered a healing charm. "It'll just hurt for a minute," he promised.  
  
Hermione blushed at his words. Ron wondered at that, until he remembered the last time he'd told her the same thing. Then he blushed, too, right to the roots of his carroty hair.  
  
***  
  
In their sixth year, Ron and Hermione had had "The Talk." Ginny called it the DTR - Defining The Relationship - and had regaled Hermione with amusing stories of her own DTR with Harry at the beginning of the school year. At the same time, Harry had tried to stop his best friend from having "The Talk" with Hermione, telling Ron about his harrowing experience with Ginny in September. Ron, as usual, had ignored Harry's thinly veiled warnings and met Hermione in the third floor corridor that had once housed Hagrid's three-headed dog and an enormous troll. What had once been off-limits to all students, for their own safety, had turned into a great place for secret assignations by Ron's sixth year. Every couple used it, and Ron chose it for his talk with Hermione.  
  
Ron would never be able to pinpoint the moment he fell in love with brainy, bossy Hermione Granger. Some people said he always loved her, and all the rows were just misdirected emotions. Harry dated it from fourth year. Ginny, who understood her short-tempered big brother better than perhaps anyone else, believed it all started in first year when Ron had made Hermione cry. Well, whenever it had begun, by the end of sixth year, Ron knew how he felt. And he was pretty sure of Hermione, too. They'd been casually flirting for almost two years by then, and in their last term Hermione had finally ceased bossing Ron to within an inch of his life. They'd fallen into a very comfortable, very close relationship.  
  
Of course, Ron still called Hermione one of his two best friends. But everyone (even stubborn Hermione) knew that his relationship with her bore very little resemblance to the one he had with Harry. Ron was a lot touchier about Hermione, and he'd beaten Draco Malfoy to a pulp more than once over a muttered insult. Whenever Malfoy insulted Harry, Ron got upset, and offered to throw a punch or two, but he usually allowed Harry to answer Malfoy himself. Harry was good with a wand and always beat Malfoy in their illegal wizard duels.  
  
On the night in question, though, Ron was ready to give up calling Hermione his best friend...if he could call her something better still. She'd shown up just at the stroke of eight - precisely on time, as usual - a little bit upset by Ron's request to take time out of her busy studying schedule to meet him here.   
  
"Ron, please tell me you have contracted a deadly disease and need me to heal you," she began. "Because I have heaps of studying to do, and exams are only six weeks away."  
  
"Aw, come on, 'Mione. We have six weeks. An hour won't kill you." He watched her as she girded up for an argument, and felt his own temper rising. Then he remembered why they were there, and he managed to control his temper. "Right. I don't want to start a row with you, Hermione. I just want - "   
  
She waited, impatiently, for him to finish. But Ron was suddenly tongue-tied and just couldn't get his thoughts into words. "Well?" she demanded. He began to blush - he could feel it and wondered a bit angrily if he'd ever outgrow this stupid turning red. "Oh, honestly, Ron. If you can't tell me what you wanted to say, then I'm just going to go back to the library." She turned away and started back down the hall.   
  
Her leaving was what drove Ron to his desperate act. He reached out and took her arm, spinning her around and pulling her close to him. Without giving it another thought, he planted his lips on hers. She gasped, but did not struggle against him. In fact, after a moment, Ron felt her arm sneaking up around his neck. He put his hands around her waist and deepened the kiss. It was only the beginning.  
  
They never had that DTR.  
  
  
A/N: Well, there's a little history for you. I don't know if this chapter is exactly up to par. Sometimes I want to say so much that I lose control of any sort of structure. Thanks again for your fantabulous reviews. But don't be afraid of criticism. I love *thoughtful* critiques. I mean, how else will I make this story better? Feel free to make your suggestions in your review...or you can email me (address in my bio). Now it's muy importante that I go to sleep. 


	4. It'll Just Hurt for a Minute

Author's notes: Let's see how Hermione is doing, being faced with Ron again, after seven years apart. What is she thinking about?  
  
Disclaimer: This can get rawther tedious, writing new disclaimers for every chapter. However, let it never be said that I had broken the rules. (Well, let it never be said that I had broken this rule, at least.) Harry Potter and other characters belong to the delightful Rowling. Random moments of madness are all mine.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 4. It'll Just Hurt for a Minute  
  
Hermione couldn't believe how stupid she was acting. What happened to being the smartest witch in Britain? One minute with Ron Weasley, and she was acting like a silly schoolgirl. Blushing over "It'll just hurt for a minute" was not something the smartest witch in Britain would do, no matter what it brought to mind! Hermione decided she was going to have to turn in her wand if she kept acting like such a git.  
  
If only she could turn off her memory with such a mental upbraiding. But no. The memories kept coming.  
  
***  
  
It took Hermione all of three seconds to adjust to being kissed by Ron. It had been completely unexpected, even though he had asked her to meet her in the third-floor corridor. He'd said he needed to talk to her about something, and she'd not-quite-graciously acquiesced, giving him time she should have spent studying. But she had to admit, she was intrigued. Ginny had let slip her belief that her brother was in love with the brilliant Gryffindor prefect, and Hermione wanted to know if it was true. It'd be nice to have something new over Ron for the next time he beat her at wizard chess.  
  
She'd been in a good mood as she headed for the corridor. But she'd been waylaid by ferret boy Draco Malfoy, who succeeded in infuriating her with his "filthy mudbloods; we'll get you first" mutterings. She'd paused to give him a very public set-down, but by the time she met Ron, her earlier good mood was completely ruined. All she'd wanted to do was get back to the safety of her studies. She had no patience left for Ron, and lost her temper with him. She'd been about to leave him when he grabbed her and kissed her.  
  
For a moment, Hermione did not know what to do. She'd never been kissed before. But she wasn't the smartest witch in Britain for nothing. She had read enough to know what to do, and she did it. And then it was as though she stopped thinking so hard about it and allowed her instinct to take over. The longer the kiss lasted, the more Hermione enjoyed it. Somewhere in her head her brain was still functioning at full speed. In that part of her brain, she thought quite logically that she liked kissing Ron. Anyone with that much passion for arguing was bound to be a good kisser. And, it turned out, he was.  
  
In the beginning, it was little more than that - stolen kisses, when they thought no one else was watching. After all, Hermione told herself, Ron was not her type. She would never get involved with a - well, with a...prat...like her flame-haired best friend Ron. After all, Hermione was a genius. She needed to be stimulated, made to think, egged on by the intelligent thoughts of other geniuses. Harry and Ron were fun to hang around with, she admitted, and she didn't regret a single one of their adventures. But they were boys, and Hermione would never develop those kinds of feelings for a mere boy. Especially not pain in the bottom Ron Weasley. She told herself she was just experimenting with him. She was trying to learn. So she'd be ready when she met the man of her dreams.  
  
Hermione couldn't say just when things changed for her. It wasn't when Ron managed to perform a particularly difficult charm on Malfoy and turned him into a ferret for an entire Hogsmead weekend in order to avenge Hermione. It wasn't when Harry started referring to them as Ron-and-Hermione instead of Ron and Hermione. It wasn't when she and Ginny performed keeping spells on the bouquets of flowers Harry and Ron had bought "for their girls." Indeed, by the time Hermione realized that her feelings for Ron had changed, she felt very much like Elizabeth Bennet: "It's been coming on for so long, I hardly know myself when it started."   
  
No matter when it had begun, Hermione knew by the end of sixth year that she liked kissing Ron. She felt all warm and tingly when he held her hand or gave her one of those smoldering looks across the Potions classroom. And when they weren't sneaking off for a snogfest, they sat quite companionably in the Gryffindor common room, talking, studying, arguing. But their arguments weren't as entertaining for the rest of the house to watch anymore. Ron and Hermione had both mellowed.   
  
One thing Hermione did know for sure, though, was when her relationship with Ron officially changed. That happened that summer, when Hermione and Harry had come to the Burrow for their traditional last hurrah before September. Hermione had been helping Ron de-gnome the garden while Harry and Ginny snuck off for some time alone. Hermione had put on her oldest summer clothes and pulled her bushy brown hair back into a ponytail. She planned on impressing nobody, hurling gnomes over the fence, and didn't care much about how she looked. She and Ron worked up quite a little competition, seeing who could throw a gnome the farthest. She felt silly and foolish - something Hermione never felt, if she could help it - and reveled in it.  
  
They had gotten almost all of them when Hermione found one hiding under a lettuce leaf. She picked it up and swung it around for one last toss. Unfortunately, Ron stood up right as she let fly the gnome, and it hit him with some force - right in the jaw. The gnome dropped to the ground in a daze and immediately fell unconscious. Ron, Hermione saw, was about to do the same thing.  
  
She hurried to his side. "Oh, Ron, I'm sorry! Are you hurt? Here, let me look at it." Already his jaw was beginning to swell.  
  
"I'm fine, 'Mione," he muttered.  
  
"No, you're not. Come on, Ron. You know I studied with Madame Pomfrey last year. If you'll just let me have a look, I could heal it up for you." She reached up to touch his jaw now, to turn his head her way, but he shook her off stubbornly. She rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a baby, Ron. You're seventeen years old. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to look."  
  
With the exaggerated patience of a saint and a look of martyrdom to match it, Ron let Hermione lead him away from the garden to a relatively secluded spot in the yard, behind an ancient oak tree. "Now sit down and let me fix you up," she ordered, sounding more than a little bit like Madame Pomfrey. Ron grinned, then scowled as the pain shot through his jaw.  
  
"You should really play quidditch, 'Mione," he told her through the pain in his jaw. "With an arm like yours, you could probably knock Malfoy off his broom in one stroke."  
  
Hermione smiled. "Maybe if I didn't have to fly to do it," she countered.  
  
At that, Ron snorted. "The only reason you don't like flying is because you're not the best in the school at it. It's okay to come in second sometimes, you know."  
  
"Yes, I do know," she answered him sharply. "And you remind me of it every time we play chess. That's not why I don't like flying. I just prefer the stable ground beneath my feet, is all."  
  
"You wouldn't if you could fly."  
  
He was deliberately taunting her. She was sure of it. "I can fly, Ronald Weasley. If I recall, I got my broom up before you did."  
  
"That was first year!" he defended. "Those old Hogwarts brooms hardly count for anything. And if I recall, Harry was the only one who could manage a broom. Besides, you haven't been up on a broom since."  
  
"Because I don't like flying," she enunciated. "Now shut up before I hit you with something harder than a gnome."  
  
Ron knew better than to torment her further. He was seated under the tree, leaning against its ancient trunk, and she was squatting beside him. But he couldn't help it. "You wouldn't do that," he replied lazily, closing his eyes as she touched him.  
  
"Don't test me, Ron," she warned, pressing on his swollen jaw a little harder than was necessary. His eyes flew open, and Hermione grinned ever so slightly.  
  
"You think that's funny, do you?" He reached up and grabbed both her wrists. Yanking her hands away from his face, Ron caused her to lose her balance, and she tumbled into him. She tried to wrench her hands away from his, to no avail. Thus began the wrestling match. He was grinning (though it was a decidedly lopsided grin, due to his injury), and she was giggling. She meant to get the upper hand.  
  
Unfortunately, Ron had the more tactical mind. It was all those years of wizard chess, Hermione grudgingly admitted to herself after she found herself most certainly pinned to the ground. Ron was practically sitting on her, and pinning her arms away from her head. He watched her closely, his face only inches from hers, daring her to move. Hermione squirmed, trying to best him, but to no avail. Nevertheless, when she shifted beneath him, his demeanor changed.   
  
"Hermione," was all he said before he closed the gap between them and kissed her.  
  
And she kissed him back. And he kissed her. And she kissed him. And suddenly they weren't just kissing. He was touching her, and she, with just as much urgency, was touching him. Warning bells sounded in her mind. She knew what would happen if she didn't stop him. But for once in her life, Hermione just didn't care. "It'll just hurt for a minute," Ron whispered, and she nodded. It did hurt. A lot more than her mother had ever told her it would hurt. But Ron kissed away her tears. He was the most tender and gentle lover a girl could ask for. And afterward, he held her close and murmured loving words in her ears. When Hermione was thinking sensibly again, she was surprised that she could have such a perfect experience, with Ron, of all people, in the woods behind the Burrow. But even in her dreams it couldn't have been a better first time.  
  
  
A/N: Again, I must say THANK YOU to my splendid reviewers. I'm becoming quite a review fiend. I mean, there are others who have millions more reviews, but those are heights to which I cannot aspire. I'm quite content with you, my faithful audience. And remember, a thoughtful review is a good review.   
  
ps - Hermione Starise: no, I've never read the Drina books, so nothing was inspired from there. Hmmm...now I'll have to find and read them. 


	5. Caught Off-Guard

Author's notes: Right. Returning to the present now. If you'll remember, Hermione just met Ron again for the first time in seven years, he brought old memories rushing back, and Ginny and Harry have had a baby. Now then.  
  
Disclaimer: Keeping it short - not mine. Hers.   
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 5. Caught Off-Guard  
  
"Ron, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Hermione asked. He was still gently pressing her hand, probing for any broken bones.  
  
"Quiet, 'Mione. I'm an Auror, you know. I can manage a simple healing charm." Before she could protest, he muttered a spell she recognized, and she felt the painful sensation of bones swiftly knitting themselves back together. She would have a few choice words with Ginny later for breaking her hand.  
  
But after a moment, the pain was gone. "There." Ron looked up and smiled at Hermione. For a moment, it was as if they'd never been apart. Then he cleared his throat and stood up straight. "Well. I guess we should go tell everyone it's a boy." He offered her his hand, and she hopped down from the examining table. Hand in hand they headed back toward the hospital waiting room.   
  
Right outside the door, they both stopped. Both were nervous again, and the camaraderie was broken. Hermione wondered what he was thinking. Shyly, she asked, "Ron?"  
  
"Yeah?" he answered softly. Almost eagerly, Hermione thought. It turned her away. What was she going to say?  
  
"Never mind." She dropped his hand and looked away. "Maybe you should go in. They're your family." She didn't want to go in there with Ron. Mrs. Weasley had never fully forgiven her for refusing Ron's proposal, and such a joyous moment - the announcement of Ginny's first child - seemed an inappropriate moment for Hermione to share with Ron.   
  
He rolled his eyes at her. "Come off it, Hermione. You're family."  
  
She thought suddenly that Ron's time in the US had not done much for his manners. Her temper flared. "No, Ron, I'm not. I'm a friend, and your mother barely tolerates me, even though it's been seven bloody years!"  
  
"Don't be stupid. My mother loves you like another daughter - just like she always has." He grasped her arm. "Harry and Ginny chose you and me for godparents. You're not getting out of this. They both wanted you here today. No one's going to say anything different. Don't be a coward."  
  
Hermione's eyebrows shot up at that. "Coward? Coward?!! Ron Weasley, I'm sure you didn't just call me a coward. When have I ever been a coward?" He raised a brow knowingly. She just glared. "You think I was being a coward when I turned down your proposal? My, my, aren't we egotistical," she said with unbelievable sarcasm. "Ron, I was bloody seventeen. And you're the one who ran away, not I."  
  
"Right," he muttered. "Leave it to her to use proper grammar in an argument." Back to her, he raised his voice. "I was seventeen, too, 'Mione. And you did run away. You ran right back to your books and hid there, just like you always do."  
  
"I didn't run back to my books, Ron. I made a choice. I chose to further my education rather than suffer in poverty and ignorance with you," she spat.  
  
"Sure you did. Poverty and ignorance, huh? You, Miss Equal Rights for House Elves, couldn't imagine living without your precious muggle credit cards? I thought you didn't mind that I wasn't rich like Harry." He stared hard at her, causing her to blush slightly.  
  
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she shot back.  
  
"Really!" He had raised his voice as she did, and now both were close to shouting.  
  
"Ron, even if you're a world-famous Auror, you're still a stupid prat! Now go in there and tell your family that your only sister is now the mother of a beautiful baby boy!" she shouted at top volume. "Move!" She needn't have insisted upon it. At that moment, the waiting room door burst open, and a rush of Weasleys poured out. Fred and George led the pack. Their wise grins caused both Ron and Hermione to blush bright red.   
  
"No need, no need," George told them. "Harry already told us. Wondered where you'd gone, in fact."  
  
Hermione hated the knowing grins that were plastered across the twins' faces. She'd always hated them. Because they only grinned like that when they caught Hermione and Ron in something of a compromising situation. Stupid gits, she thought to herself. Then her quick mind found an excuse. She held up her hand. "Ron healed my hand after Ginny crushed it. That's where we were."  
  
Fred raised his red eyebrows and glanced at his younger brother. "Really? Ickle Ronniekins has become a healer as well?"  
  
Ron glowered. Hermione knew he had always hated when his older brothers treated him like a baby. Apparently some things never changed. "Shut up, Fred," he grumbled.   
  
Hermione sighed. "Well, I suppose you all know. They've had a boy." She looked around at the sea of red heads and nodded once. "Right, then. I'll be off." She was about to disapparate when Mrs. Weasley called to her to stop. She turned to face the Weasley clan. In that silent moment, as Hermione looked over the faces she knew so well, her heart squeezed. For a moment she would have given her entire library to be a part of such a family.  
  
Molly and Arthur Weasley stood hand in hand, even after all these years, love shining in their eyes. All around them, red heads and smiling faces filled the waiting room. Bill, the oldest Weasley, had his arm around his girlfriend Acacia, a red-headed Greek witch he'd met while working for Gringott's in Egypt. Though they still weren't married, they had three children: eight-year-old Max (for Telemachus, of course), six-year-old Bianca, and three-year-old Geoffrey. All three children had hair as red as their parents'. Charlie Weasley had met his wife Irina in Romania. Their twins Elliot and Ekaterina (Eli and Kat) were just seven and already as much trouble as Fred and George had ever been. Hermione thought for a moment about the ruckus they'd raise when they got to Hogwarts in a few years. A ghost of a smile crossed her face at the picture that formed in her mind. Fred and his daughter Anna stood beside George and his wife Mary. Mary was a Canadian with a sense of humor that mirrored George's. They'd met at the grand opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in London. She'd been visiting a friend for the summer. She'd never gone back to Canada, and she was now the proud mother of George, Jr. (who was an overactive eight-year-old) and his five-year-old brother Artie. Percy and his Hogwarts sweetheart Penelope had married (finally) right after Ginny graduated from Hogwarts. So far, Percy was the most prolific Weasley, with four children and another on the way. His children, Paul (4), Priscilla (3), Patrick (2), and Patience (1) were running about the waiting room, climbing about on the furniture - and their relatives - and acting nothing at all like either Percy or Penelope.   
  
And then there was Ron. While not the only unmarried Weasley, he was the only unattached one. In the waiting room filled with 23 members of his family, Ron was alone.   
  
Like Hermione.  
  
She mentally shook her head and focused on Ron's mother. She'd stopped Hermione from going, after all. "Yes?" she asked with a pleasant smile.  
  
Molly noted the trace of sadness in Hermione's face. For a minute she felt sorry for the lonely girl. Being the smartest witch in Britain didn't satisfy the heart, however much it pleased Hermione's brain. "We've got to celebrate, dear. Aren't you going to join us? Another Weasley - ahem," she corrected, "Potter added to us. We're going to the Leaky Cauldron. Won't you come along?"  
  
Hermione flicked a glance to Ron. Wouldn't he be uncomfortable having her there? After all, this was his family, not hers. And what with their past -  
  
"Ah go on, 'Mione," the redhead in question urged. "Come have a butterbeer with the whole Weasley clan. We can catch up. Harry'd want you to come."  
  
Harry? What did Harry matter in all this? Ron was such a - "Oh," she whispered, remembering. Harry. Ginny. New baby. Godparents. Whatever happened to being the smartest witch in Britain? she asked herself. "Oh, honestly," she muttered.   
  
Ron watched Hermione blush and wished suddenly that they were alone. That blush had always done things to him. Seven years hadn't made as much difference as he'd hoped. "Well?" He held out his arm like a gentleman, and she took it. Ron couldn't help but grin. Hermione had always been a sucker for gentlemanly maneuvers.  
  
Arthur Weasley shared a look with his oldest two sons, and they all pretended not to notice Ron's ears turning red. The boy was practically bursting with pride, just having Hermione at his side again! Arthur shook his head and muffled a chuckle. No matter how far Ron went or how famous he became, that Hermione Granger would always be able to turn him into a bumbling schoolboy.   
  
***  
  
Harry was in fine form at the Leaky Cauldron. For a while, at least, he had forgotten all his troubles and the war with the Dark Lord. For now, he was only an exceedingly proud father and husband. "Look," he'd tell the waitress each time she passed their table, pointing to the magical picture of his newborn son he had taken before leaving Ginny and baby James for an hour or two. "That's my son. Isn't he the most brilliant baby you've ever seen?"   
  
Hermione coughed into her napkin to hide her amusement. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was acting just like every other proud papa. Hermione hadn't ever seen him so...giddy. It was so odd, watching Harry grow intoxicated on butterbeer and the ever-changing sight of his new son in the photo. Harry was usually so serious. Who wouldn't be, in his place? The most feared dark wizard in history hated him and sought to harm him every time they met. And it had been like that since Harry was eleven...ever since he was a baby, when you got right down to it. Now Harry was the captain of an elite international team dedicated to rooting out and destroying the Dark Side. Hermione knew that he lived with a constant fear that Voldemort was going to attack Ginny - or now baby James - in order to destroy Harry, but to listen to him now, he hadn't a care in the world. Hermione almost burst out laughing as her friend accosted the waitress again. "Look at that! He's crying! My son!"   
  
Hermione glanced around the table and noticed that the other adults were trying their best to mask their amusement at Harry's new fatherly pride. Her eyes met Ron's blue ones, twinkling with amusement. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then she felt his hand on her leg under the table. She told herself to be offended at such a liberty, but too much butterbeer had slowed her quick mind a bit, and she only reached up and pinched his ear. Hard.  
  
"Oy!" Ron shouted, clapping the offending hand over his ear and giving Hermione a wounded look. "Why'd you do that, 'Mione?"  
  
She crooked an eyebrow, almost daring him to give her a reason to tell. Ron quieted down and became suddenly interested in Harry's photo. Hermione bit back a grin and told herself to let up on the butterbeer before she became addled and lost her edge. She switched to fizzy lemonade (her favorite Muggle beverage - so lucky the new proprietors of the Leaky Cauldron knew a bit about the Muggle world) and chatted with some of the other members of the Weasley clan.  
  
***  
  
After a couple of hours, Harry decided he had to get back to Ginny. The others were getting a bit tired (it had been a long day), so they all said their good-byes at the Leaky Cauldron and went their separate ways. Once again, Hermione was about to apparate home when she was asked to wait. This time it was Ron. "Give me a hand, will you?" he asked her, gesturing to Harry. "A few too many toasts, I think. He's in no condition to apparate back to St. Mungo's, and I can't fly him back on my own."  
  
Hermione snorted. That was an understatement. Ron had tipped a few pints himself and was only slightly less pissed than Harry. She shook her head. Some things never changed. She wondered if she would always be getting her two best friends out of scrapes. "I'm not flying," she told Ron adamantly.   
  
He rolled his eyes - sort of - and sighed. "How would you suggest we get back to St. Mungo's then? Walk? Take the tube? They don't exactly have a parking lot, even if I did have a car. We have to fly."  
  
"There's no such thing as having to fly, Ron," she argued. "I've somehow managed to avoid it for years. Don't you have a portkey? I thought, being an Auror and all, you'd know where all of them are." She crossed her arms under her chest and fixed him with a sharp stare.  
  
Normally, Ron would have come up with some sort of answer, but he'd switched from butterbeer to cream stout with Harry, and his wits were more than a wee bit addled. "I - you - oh shut it, 'Mione," he sputtered. She was highly amused by this response - such as it was - and waited with an imperious look on her young face for him to say something else. He did. "We have to fly. I have my broom, and I can't remember where the nearest portkey is, alright? So have your laugh and give me a hand, will you? My broom's out back."  
  
"And if I say no?" she challenged, just to see what he would do.  
  
"Then you can explain to my sister why her husband is scattered in bits all through the Floo Network," he said calmly, helping Harry toward the back of the building where his broom was.  
  
Hermione glared after the pair for a moment before giving in. She'd puzzle out later how Ron could make so much sense when he was drunk. It was probably a skill he discovered living in the States. She caught up and propped Harry up on the other side. "I'll do it, but I'm not going to enjoy a minute of this, Ronald Weasley," she warned. He smiled at her, and she fought down the warmth his twinkling blue eyes created in her. Prat, she thought.  
  
They were helping Harry onto the broom, and Hermione was trying to get him to sit up for just a minute. "Honestly, Harry! Couldn't you have managed to stay just a little bit sober? Ginny's going to have your ass in a sling if you arrive in her room like this." She looked up, noticing that both her friends were giving her clear-eyes looks of mingled shock and amusement. "What?" she asked.  
  
"My ass in a sling, 'Mione?" Harry queried. "Strong language." He tsked at her, then practically fell on Ron, laughing.  
  
Ron laughed, too. "My, my. You have changed. You sounded like an American for a second."  
  
She glared, masking her embarrassment at using such vulgar speech. "Well, it's no thanks to you if I did."  
  
He stopped. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Seven years without a single word, Ron? You owled everyone else often enough. You even sent e-mails to Harry and Ginny! I have a computer. Have had. And Ginny gave you my address twice. I even sacrificed my pride and sent you an e-mail once I wrangled your address out of Harry. You never even wrote back! Not one single word! We've been friends since we were eleven years old, and you couldn't even send a 'Got your message. Thanks,' to me? What kind of great prat are you?" She was practically shouting, but she didn't care. There was no one else in the alley, and if there were others around, then Ron could suffer in public.   
  
"Like you really wanted to hear from me," he roared back. "You were all cozy with your bloody books, hiding from the world in your stupid ivory towers of higher learning."  
  
Ivory tower, Hermione corrected silently.   
  
"Bloody hell, what was I supposed to say? 'Dear Hermione, still love you, miss you madly, can't manage to hate you even if you broke my heart, could you please continue to crush my hopes by keeping up correspondence with me? Fondly, Ron.'" He was staring at her with blazing anger...and seven years of repressed heartbreak...in his eyes. His chest was heaving as they faced each other, toe to toe.   
  
"Yes!" Hermione yelled back. "That would have been a good start! But no. You just couldn't set aside your pride for a second, could you? No. Not the spectacular Ron Weasley, master of wizard chess and quidditch keeper extraordiniare. Better for him to slink off and nurse a broken heart and not give another thought to me. Oh, no! You didn't give a single thought to me, did you? Never thought how almost all our old friends turned their backs on me, just because I didn't want to get married when I was only seventeen, did you? Never cared for a second what your family thought of me. Didn't care that Percy and Charlie and Bill and your mother thought I was nothing but a selfish tease for refusing you after - after...everything..." She was thankful for the night sky that hid her blush at mentioning her intimacy with Ron. "Nothing seemed to matter to you but your own precious feelings. Poor ickle Ronnie, spurned and forlorn, must take his wee ickle heart off to America -"  
  
"Honestly," he muttered, disbelieving. "Only one way to stop this," he said under his breath. Then he grabbed Hermione by the arms and pulled her to him for a kiss.  
  
Hermione was too shocked at first to push Ron away. And after a second, she didn't want to. She'd missed this more than she wanted to admit. Ron let go her arms and instead encircled her waist, holding her closer to him. Slowly her arms snaked up and around his neck as she deepened the kiss. Somewhere in her mind she began debating as to why she'd given this up. At the fore, though, was the thought that she and Ron seemed to fit together almost perfectly. And every place their bodies met, her skin burned with repressed memories...and desire. When Ron broke their kiss to catch his breath, Hermione waited only an instant before claiming his lips again. Something tightened in her middle, and she dragged her fingers through his wavy red hair. Memories were getting stronger and clearer as she kissed Ron. In her mind's eye, she could clearly see him that day they first made love, and later in the third floor corridor at Hogwarts, and most intriguing, their one tryst in Hogsmead seventh year.  
  
A quiet cough intruded on the pair, and they parted to face Harry, who chuckled. Hermione noticed that he was hovering in the air on the broomstick he hadn't been able to even hang onto a minute ago. He seemed quite sober now, while Hermione and Ron both felt more than a little intoxicated with desire. Then Harry spoke.  
  
"Took you long enough."  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I'm afraid it's all downhill from here. I have a pretty strong notion about where I want this story to go, and right now, it's your basic romance novel. I guess I've found my niche. So I'll depend on my reviewers to keep me from total lameness.   
  
A quick note about chapter length. Yes, I know they're a bit short. I'm working on that. And now I have to once again gush about my reviewers. You people are just too much. I've read some of your stories, and they totally leave mine in the dust. Yet you continue to review this effort positively? Wow! Thanks. I deeply appreciate your support. 


	6. Home Again

Author's notes: I honestly can't believe I've managed six chapters already! Not only that, I think I have some direction for future chapters. Whoa. Freaky. Anyway, thanks for all the feedback so far. I hope this story doesn't suck.   
  
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters do not belong to me. I am violating no copyright laws, as this is not for profit or reprinting. All the Harry Potter stuff you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, assorted publishers and movie-makers, etc., etc., etc. Please don't sue. I'm down to the bare minimum already. And I just gave away another stack of books. But you can have my dead flowers if you insist.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 6. Home Again  
  
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, embarrassed and upset. She realized immediately that Harry was not drunk - at all. She narrowed her eyes at her friend, regaining her composure and losing her barely reigned-in temper. Both Ron and Harry recognized Hermione's quarreling stance from Hogwarts: balled fists planted firmly on hips, feet slightly apart, brows furrowed, shoulders squared. Harry was about to get the talking-to of his life. She took one step toward him, and Harry's grin began to fade. "Harry Potter, do you mean to tell me that you tricked us into this? You pretended to be intoxicated in the hopes of getting Ron and me into a compromising situation?"  
  
"Ron and I," Harry corrected softly. He would have done better to keep silent.  
  
Hermione's cinnamon eyes flashed. "No, you git, the correct phrase is 'Ron and me.' Take out Ron, and the sentence says, 'in the hopes of getting me into a compromising situation.' Not 'getting I into a compromising situation.'" Behind her, Ron chuckled. Hermione decided to ignore him for the time being.  
  
***  
  
Ron was more than a little bit impressed with his friend. In all the years he had known Hermione, he'd never been able to divert her attention so easily, or so well. It was only after they'd become a couple and he'd kissed her in the middle of an argument that he discovered the only way to end the tirade. But with only a few simple words, Harry had managed to turn the tide of Hermione's anger - at least for the moment. They both knew that she couldn't bear to be corrected, and she took great pleasure in being right. Ron gave Harry an approving glance, which the smaller man caught. Harry returned the knowing look with a wink, only this time, Hermione intercepted it. She narrowed her eyes even more.  
  
He was probably in this with Harry. Those two had never done anything without the other. She spun to include him in her wrath. "And you! How long have you been working out this little plan? No doubt you two have been owling each other back and forth for ages, plotting your strategies. No wonder you never had time to send two words to me, Ron. And now, you..."  
  
But Ron had stopped listening. It was another tactic he'd learned during his short-lived romance with this lovely best friend. Instead he used the opportunity to feast his eyes on Hermione. Though she was not what one would call beautiful in the conventional sense, Ron had never known anyone more attractive. He was glad that she'd not changed her hair. She was a brilliant witch; she could have done it in a flash. But for Ron, Hermione just wouldn't be Hermione if she had permanently smooth, glossy locks. In the moonlight, Ron thought her hair glowed like an angelic halo. Her wild bushy hair was what he had loved best about her.  
  
That and her eyes. Hermione had delicious eyes. No one had eyes like hers. They really were the color of toasted cinnamon, with just as much warmth, and not a little fire. They were so expressive - at least to Ron. He could read everything in her eyes. And wise like a cat's. She seemed to know everything. Ron could only remember correcting her once, and they'd both been surprised when he did. Of course, it was all book knowledge (which was why she'd never managed to beat him at wizard's chess - that required strategy), but it was more book knowledge than anyone else in the wizarding world had. Yes, Ron loved her eyes.  
  
Her eyes, yes, but also her mind. He really did. Being with the smartest witch in Hogwarts was an ego boost, to be sure. And it was brilliant just listening to her. He'd learned more as a result of Hermione's tutoring than he'd learned from most of his Hogwarts professors. There was always something new in Hermione's brain. No matter how much her know-it-all-ness irritated him, he missed it when it was gone.  
  
Ron blinked: the harrangue wasn't over. Good. His thoughts turned...south...as he took in Hermione's wonderful form. He tried to be covert as he gazed at her thinner, but still lush, figure, looking through his eyelashes so that she would think he was feeling ashamed for whatever she was berating him about now. But he was definitely not ashamed. Quite the opposite, in fact. Hermione had the habit of thrusting her chest out when she was angry, and Ron very much enjoyed the sight of her small bosom straining against the fabric of her sweater. Seven years had not diminished his memory of her breasts, and he had to force his fingers to remain still at his sides, for they tingled with desire.  
  
No, Hermione Granger was not your typical beauty. She was of an average height, and though her legs seemed long, that was an illusion of her low-riding, slightly flared, seemingly painted on jeans. But there was something else, something Ron was waiting for, something that transformed the rather missish former Head Girl into the glorious sensual creature Ron remembered.   
  
Ahh...there it was. The blush. Ron was the only person who could ever bring that particular faint, rosy blush of color to Hermione's normally pale English skin. It wasn't the blush of embarrassment, mortification, anger, or shame. No, this blush was the blush of understanding and desire. It was faint, just the earliest stirrings of desire, but Ron alone knew what it boded. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  
  
***  
  
"...And I just don't understand how you could do this to me, Ron," Hermione finished. She paused to catch her breath, ready to dive back in, when she caught his eye. He was only pretending to be ashamed! In reality, he was checking her out! She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks, then spreading to the roots of her hair, down her neck. "Ron!" she chided softly. He shouldn't be able to do this to her anymore. It had been seven bloody years! she thought. She had refused him then, and they'd gone their separate ways. Ron Weasley was nothing more than her friend!  
  
That was what she told herself, at least. And she stubbornly ignored that other part of her mind, the part that would beg to differ. But it would not be silenced. "If Ron means so little to you, how come you haven't had so much as a date since he left?" it demanded to know.   
  
I've been focusing on my studies, she thought. And anyway, that's not the point. He -   
  
"Ahem."  
  
Both Hermione and Ron were roused from their staring match and turned toward Harry. He tried to hide his smile, seeing his two best friends together again, and controlled himself admirably. He only raised an eyebrow knowingly and said, "If you don't mind, I would like to get back to my wife now. 'Mione, I can fly, but Ron really is pissed. Ride with us. I promise to fly slowly. Then you can say hello to Ginny and Jamie before you go."  
  
Hermione made a childish face. She was supposed to be the sensible one in this trio, not Harry. But she had to admit he was right. She nodded. "Right, then. Let's go. And Harry, none of your Quidditch moves on this broom, or so help me, Ginny will be coming to the hospital to visit you!"  
  
Harry and Ron both laughed, and the three climbed on Ron's rental broom. In no time, they had landed at St. Mungo's and were in Ginny's room.  
  
***  
  
After saying their good-byes to Harry and Ginny and cooing over darling baby Jamie, Hermione and Ron stood outside St. Mungo's in the dark cool night. Without Harry there, the situation was awkward - to say the least. Hermione felt there was so much to say...but no way to say it. She wanted to ask Ron why he'd never written, why he'd never come back. If he'd really meant it when he said he still loved her and didn't hate her. She wanted to know what he'd been doing in America these past seven years. She wanted to tell him about her Arithmancy thesis, and about Harry and Ginny, and Voldemort's stranglehold on the European magical community, and Hagrid and Madame Maxime's son (who would be the first giant to enter Hogwarts since Hagrid himself), and her parents' pleas that Hermione do something "worthwhile" with her life (become a dentist?), and, and, and... But how could she tell him everything that had been going on these seven years? Ron was practically a stranger to her now. A handsome stranger, yes, but a stranger nonetheless.   
  
Ron was certainly handsome. Of course, he'd been considered something of a catch when they were still at Hogwarts. Ron had taken after his brother Charlie, and by seventh year was quite ruggedly handsome. Tanned and toned from hours and hours outside practicing quidditch (to no one's surprise, Ron had been the Gryffindor keeper since Oliver Wood graduated), he appeared in the daydreams of many a Hogwarts girl. In the seven years since they left Hogwarts, Hermione thought Ron had gotten even better-looking. Dressed in khakis and a close-fitting smoke-blue turtleneck sweater, Ron was delectable. Hermione told herself she wouldn't be human if she didn't notice. And his still-bright-red hair was longish, like it needed a cut. Hermione tried to banish from her near-flawless memory the way Ron's thick hair felt between her fingers when he'd kissed her behind the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
She turned slightly away from him, blushing again. She hadn't blushed in seven years - not since Ron left. But today proved that she hadn't outgrown the habit, as she'd hoped, after all. All this blushing was quite irritating. So was this awkward silence. Why didn't he say anything?   
  
She sighed. "Well, erm, it was nice seeing you again, Ron." After some hesitation, she hugged him stiffly, and turned to walk away.  
  
"Nice seeing you too, 'Mione," he answered softly, after she was a few steps away. It had been nice. Almost too nice, Ron thought. But there she was, walking away from him. Again. He sighed and started walking in the other direction.  
  
Hermione stopped walking first. She couldn't just leave it like this. Ron had been her friend, and then her lover. He'd asked her to marry him, for heaven's sake! The least she could do was make sure he had a place to sleep tonight. She turned around. "Ron!" she called. He turned around, too. In a moment they stood together again. "I..." Looking into his eyes, she lost her train of thought. Damn him anyway. She was a successful author of several academic articles, a PhD, and soon a household name. She would not be flustered by a pair of probing blue eyes. She squared her shoulders stubbornly. "I wanted to make sure you had a place to stay tonight."  
  
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. Ron was willing to bet Hermione wanted more than that, but she'd never admit it. If anyone on this planet was more stubborn than Ron Weasley, it was Hermione Granger. He shrugged. "Probably at the Burrow. I think they'll have room for one more."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "The Burrow? With all your brothers and their families? You'd be lucky to get a corner by the fire! Ron, I'm not dismissing your family, but the Burrow was crowded enough when we were children. I'm sure it hasn't gotten any bigger since you left." She shook her head. "No. You'll stay in my flat for tonight. It may not be much, but at least there's room. And it's nearer than the Burrow, so you'll be close to Ginny and Harry." This last bit of logic would have been fine were Ron a Muggle. Then, half an hour on the train would be a thousand times preferred to the three-hour car ride from the Burrow to St. Mungo's Hospital. But of course, Ron could apparate in an instant.  
  
"I don't know, 'Mione. I don't want to impose."  
  
"Don't be a git, Ron. Of course you're going to impose somewhere. You don't exactly live around the corner. Now come on. We can catch the last train if we hurry." Ron gestured to his rental broom, but Hermione dismissed the idea before he could say a word. "I am not flying home, Ron Weasley. And you're still pissed, though you hide it well. Now come on." With that, she grasped his arm and pulled her toward the barrier that hid St. Mungo's from the Muggle world.  
  
***  
  
Forty minutes later, Hermione unlocked her door. Ron smirked. Why didn't she just magically lock her door, if she was so concerned? he wondered. It would be infinitely simpler than the line of Muggle locks that preserved her flat from thieves. But he didn't say a word. Likely Hermione had a long-winded and painfully sensible reason for doing it this way.  
  
She opened the door. "Well, here it is. My flat. Come in." She waved her wand at the room, and the Muggle lamps glowed. Ron stepped inside, and she followed, closing and locking the door behind them.   
  
Hermione watched Ron's reaction closely, her mind ringing with her friend Kendra's scathing pronouncement on the place. Would Ron think it was "squalid" as well? Her heart dropped into her toes as he looked around. She didn't even try to explain her feelings away with logic. She knew it didn't make sense to crave Ron's approval of her flat, but she did. He looked around slowly, then turned to her. Hermione felt waves of relief wash over her. His blue eyes twinkled at her, and he reached out for her hand. "Home sweet home," he said with a smile. "My flat in Washington is just like this." He glanced at the library on one wall and amended, "Fewer books, though."   
  
Her heart soared.  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I know this chapter's a bit short again, but I promise I'm working on it. You know how it is, when you know what you want to write, and the story runs away from you? That happens to me all the time. Never fear, though. I'm trying to get it better. I also need to move the story along a little, but I'm not all that great at segueways. Oh well.   
  
Thanks again for your reviews. Must get to work now, or I'll be late.  
  
Right - one more thing before I go. I need to space out my updates a bit more (work and school are so demanding that way, you know?), so that I don't completely fail this term. Hope your hearts aren't completely wrenched... :) 


	7. Better than Wizard Chess

Author's Notes: Moving right along. So far, this whole story has taken place over the course of one day. Unless I want to leave it right here (which I don't, really), it's time for night to fall and a new day to come. Ooh, don't you know what the night can bring? Please continue to help me with your reviews and your tips and suggestions. As always, you rock!  
  
ps-daygogurl: you're right about the Ron-Charlie thing. I was thinking, Bill? but couldn't decide, and I like the name Charlie better, so I went with that. I knew a Bill once, and can't quite dissociate the person from the name. I'm a nerd, I know. Thanks for catching my mistake.  
  
Disclaimer: Well, let's see. All recognizable Harry Potter characters and situations, surprisingly enough, don't belong to me. What does belong to me? Hmm, I have college loans...and some shoes...and half a jar of boysenberry jam in my fridge...  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 7. Better than Wizard Chess  
  
Ron squeezed Hermione's hand. "Well? Do I get the grand tour?"  
  
She smiled back. "You just got it. This is it." She gestured to the three closed doors. "That's my storage room/spare room. It's big enough for a bedroll, but too small for anything else. That is the loo. Mind the corners; it's a bit cramped. And that's the kitchen. I rarely use it, but you might find something in there to cure a hangover tomorrow morning."  
  
"What makes you think I'll have a hangover?"  
  
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Honestly, Ron, I know what a bender looks like. I saw how many cream stouts you drank. And you had at least two shots of firewhiskey with your father. If you don't have a hangover, I'll cook you a nice scrambled egg breakfast in the morning." She grinned at him, knowingly. Then she changed the subject. "Let me get your bedding. You can have the bed."  
  
Ron looked around the smallish room. "You mean the couch?"  
  
"It's a futon, Ron. Don't be a git." She moved away from him, but he pulled her back. "Ron," she said again, losing her patience. She looked up at him, and rolled her eyes. "Ron, don't. It's too complicated, okay?" But she wasn't really asking. She was trying to put up a barrier between them, and she knew her coolness would have an effect on Ron's emotions. It always had. Now all she had to do was remain cool and detached, blocking the blushes, the memories, the kisses from her mind. Simple as that.  
  
"It's always complicated, 'Mione," he answered with a grin. "I don't mind." And with that, he bent his head to kiss her.  
  
Ron didn't see the stubborn glint in her eye. If he had, he wouldn't have tried to kiss her just then. As it was, he jerked back with surprise when his lips met nothing but air - air that went "pop!" He looked around wildly as Hermione reapparated across the room. Now her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her foot. At the confounded look on his face, she had to bite back a smile. "Sleep," she announced. "And maybe a bite for breakfast. That's all I'm offering tonight." His shoulders slumped, and she let her smile loose. He was so predictable, it was funny. "Now shall I get your bedding? And I'll show you how to use this Muggle invention so you can be comfortable." She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and summoned a set of fresh bed linen.  
  
Ron narrowed his eyes. "How did you do that?" he asked. "I was holding you. How did you apparate out of my arms?" Normally, when a wizard apparated, so did anyone he was holding.  
  
Hermione flashed him a grin. "Reckon I should tell you all my secrets, Ron? Sorry. I shan't. But I will make up your bed for you." With that, she tossed the sheets in the air and waved her wand at them. In a flash the futon had folded out into a properly made-up bed. She found simple housekeeping charms saved her a lot of time. "There you are, sir. I suppose a yellow checked duvet is a bit girlish, but it's just for one night. You can manage." She looked around the tidy flat, then at her guest. "Right. Well, I'm off then. Make yourself comfortable, Ron. I'll wake you in the morning before I leave." With that, she stepped around him and opened the door to the "spare room."  
  
***  
  
All of Ron's celebrating with Harry earlier that evening finally caught up with him. He watched dumbly as Hermione turned the couch into a cozily made-up bed, still trying to work out in his liquor-addled mind just how she apparated away from him. "Wait a tic, 'Mione," he suggested as she opened one of the three small doors in the flat. Much to his relief, she paused. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. "What say we just catch up. Talk a bit. What have you been doing these past seven years?" He moved slowly toward the bed. Taking out his wand, he said the spell Hermione used every morning, and the bed turned back into a couch. "See? Completely platonic. Just two old friends, catching up." He sat down. She was still frozen with her hand on the door handle. "Ah, go on, Hermione. I won't bite."  
  
She bit her lip uncertainly, but her eyes were smiling. "I'm not so sure."  
  
"Well, not unless provoked," he amended, winking. Then he watched with pleasure as Hermione's skin turned faintly pink. To his delight, she came and sat down. And shot back up.   
  
"Coffee. Would you like some coffee, Ron? It'll help clear your mind."  
  
Coffee? No matter how long he'd been away from Britain, Ron would never become a coffee drinker. "D'you have any tea?" She chuckled and opened the largest door. She flipped a switch and illuminated her small kitchen. No, he amended, her tiny kitchen. Ron sat back and enjoyed the view. Hermione was scrounging around in the high cupboards above her sink, and her sweater rode up over her hips and waist as she reached into the back of the cupboards. The flash of skin he saw made him think of more, and he began to plot his strategy for the night.  
  
***  
  
"I know it's quite backward, but I've always preferred steeping my tea the Muggle way," Hermione called back to Ron as her fingers finally brushed the edge of a box of tea leaves. Standing on tiptoe, she reached the box and brought it down to the counter. "Do you mind waiting for the water to boil?" No answer. "Ron?"  
  
"You'd go to all that trouble for me?" he called back after she pulled her sweater back into place. "Honestly, 'Mione, you sure know how to make a fellow feel special. Boiling water without a touch of magic," he teased.   
  
Hermione smiled to herself and turned on the gas range. She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat. Though it was a little awkward having Ron here, she didn't mind it. As long as he left off the snogging - or attempted snogging, as the case may be - she thought they could have a pleasant bit of a chat, and then they could go their separate ways. Maybe they could get back to being friends again.  
  
"Right, Ron." She leaned on the doorway, looking at him. "I haven't been to the market in ages, but I can offer you a packet of crisps, and some soy milk, with your tea if you like. Or a Cadbury bar." She leaned back and opened her small refrigerator. "Oh! I forgot. I have some leftover curry from Sunday. And Chinese from yesterday." She looked back at her guest. "Looks like you caught me on a good day. Usually my flat's completely empty."  
  
Before Ron could comment on the current state of "fullness" of Hermione's cupboards, the teakettle started to whistle, and she turned to attend it. She spooned some tea into the teapot, then lifted the kettle to add the boiling water. "Ow!" she cried, dropping the kettle back on the stove and shoving her hand under the faucet. In a second, cool water washed over her burned hand. "Damn," she whispered as tears came to her eyes. She always forgot to use a hot pad when she cooked - since she did it so seldom. Thus her pots and pans (make that, pot and pan) all had plastic handles that didn't conduct heat. She'd been meaning to replace her teakettle with an electric one, but as she told Ron, she hadn't been to the market recently. The result was, she'd burned her hand. Again.  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. For some reason, it had been far easier for Hermione to bear up stoically while Ginny broke three bones in her hand than to ignore the searing pain of a common burn. She could barely bring herself to remove her hand from the cooling water to perform a healing spell, but she knew it was the best way to end the pain.  
  
But before she could do it, her seared flesh cooled, and the burning sensation disappeared. Hermione slowly opened her eyes as Ron reached out to shut off the gushing water. She turned a bit, finding him right behind her, almost trapping her between himself and the edge of the kitchen sink. She blinked, sending two tears cascading down her red cheeks. He took the injured hand in his, but she flinched and jerked it back.  
  
"Let me see, Hermione," he said softly, reaching for her hand again.   
  
This time, she let him take it. To her surprise, it didn't hurt. When did Ron learn how to perform a healing charm on a burn that was wet? Hermione had only ever learned the dry spell. Madame Pomfrey had never taught Hermione to heal burns any other way, which was why Hermione had tiny scars on both her hands and forearms.   
  
Never a good cook, she still sometimes made the attempt - just to prove that she could do it if she had to. Like flying. Still, the consequence of her dislike of the task was a careless splash, or a forgotten oven mitt. Her pre-Hogwarts childhood had ingrained the cool-water-on-a-burn reflex in her, and it wasn't too often that she could bring herself to give up the temporary respite of cold water or ice for the permanent (and instant) relief of a healing charm. It meant drying the burned skin, which for Hermione was an agonizing process. So how did Ron manage to know a proper healing charm that worked in running water?  
  
She must have been giving him an inquisitive look, because when he looked up, he smiled at her and explained without her asking. "I'm an Auror, 'Mione. I can't always be running for the doctor. They taught us a few charms for healing on the go. Burns, sprains, bruises and broken bones. One of my men is working on a simple spell against fatigue, so we can work without sleep and without making any stupid mistakes, if we need to. It'll also act as a countercurse against a sleeping spell."  
  
She was intrigued. She'd heard of some of the new spells and charms being developed to fight against Voldemort, but had never spent too much time researching them. Imagine Ron, of all people, being on the cutting edge! Her gaze took on a new cast as it filled with admiration for him. Their eyes met, and this time he looked away first, studying her hand.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. Her hand was fine. She was about to jerk it away when he looked up again. This time he was grinning. "You should really take better care of this hand, 'Mione. I believe that's the second time I've healed it today."  
  
With her other hand, Hermione reached out and smacked him upside the head. "No, you git. Ginny crushed this hand. And you can see how well it's healed."  
  
Ron grabbed that hand as well, effectively imprisoning her. This time he brough both her hands up, and appeared to be studying them intently. Hermione sighed. This was growing old. Fast. "Honestly, Ron -" she began, but she didn't finish. He bowed in a courtly manner over her left hand and kissed the top of it, right over the bones he'd healed earlier. Then he brought her right hand up to his lips and pressed a long, lingering kiss into her recently-burned palm, watching her eyes all the while.  
  
Hermione drew a sharp breath, willing herself to look away, pull her hands away, anything. Instead she felt caught, mesmerized by Ron's darkening blue eyes on hers and the feel of his lips on her palm. He slowly ended the kiss, then closed her hand around where his lips had landed. Without blinking once, he straightened, and stepped closer. She could feel her heart beat faster, could sense her skin beginning to blush. Keeping his eyes on hers he lowered his head and brought his lips to her mouth.  
  
When he finally kissed her, Hermione gave up. In a battle of words, she could best Ron every time. But history had proven that once words ceased and actions took over, Ron always won. Always. He brought her arms up around his neck, then slid his own hands down her sides and around her waist. Against her will, she moaned softly into his kiss, urging him forward. His arms tightened around her waist, pressing her body to his. In turn, she deepened the kiss and tangled her fingers in his thick red hair.  
  
Ron's lips left hers, and Hermione felt the loss for a second before she felt him plant a trail of kissedacross her jaw and down her throat. He stopped at that very sensitive point on her neck, just at the hollow of her throat, and nibbled the skin there lightly. She arched her neck back.  
  
"'Mione," he murmured against her neck.  
  
"Ron," she whispered in response.   
  
He returned to her lips, the electricity between them increasing from languid desire to sizzling passion. Their kisses became more demanding, and Ron pulled her back into the living room/bedroom. His fingers brushed her waist, then crept under her sweater. He could barely contain himself from yanking off the soft brown sweater. He propelled her toward the futon, which was still upright, and pressed her down onto it.  
  
"Ron, wait," she gasped between kisses. "Let me - the futon - too narrow - bed -" she tried to say, but he pressed her back. She was lying on the narrow couch that could have been folded out into a slightly roomier double bed, and he was right over her, so close he could see the flecks of black in his passion-dark eyes. His lips found hers again, claiming her mouth with his own. Any lingering concerns were chased out of Hermione's mind by Ron's plundering lips and hands. And to be honest, she wasn't all that concerned. There were other, more pressing needs.   
  
***  
  
Hermione woke with the alarm blaring in her ear. At some point in the night, she'd managed to turn the futon into a bed, and now she was lying in a tangle of sheets and blankets and legs, all too aware of her nudity. She turned off the alarm clock and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Her slightly bleary gaze fell on Ron, who shared her pillow, and she smiled fondly. Brushing his hair back from his face, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. He shifted slightly, but didn't wake. This she remembered. It was next to impossible to wake Ron Weasley from a deep sleep. And seven years of pent-up passion hadn't allowed them to sleep much the previous night...  
  
Hermione smiled. No matter that they hadn't talked a bit about their past, or what was going to happen now, she didn't regret last night. Perhaps she would later, but for now, it was just something that had happened. She kissed Ron on the forehead and crept from the bed.   
  
The remorse came while she was still in the shower. They needed to talk. They needed to figure this whole thing out. Was it just a one night stand for Ron? An opportunity he couldn't pass up? She told herself it would be best if that was all it was. Then they could go back to their own lives and chalk last night up to a passing fling. But what if it wasn't? What would they do? He lived in America, currently in Washington, DC. She lived here, in London, and was going to work for the Ministry of Magic if her interview went well today. He was an Auror, she was a scholar. They really had nothing in common, and logic told her that they couldn't try to forge a relationship on nothing but sex. She wished she could reschedule her interview, but it was a bit late for that.  
  
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Hermione had decided what to do. She left Ron a carefully worded note, hoped it wasn't too...needy, prayed he'd be there when she got back, then apparated to the Ministry.  
  
***  
  
Ron -  
  
It was nice to see you again. Stay as long as you need. Please tell Harry and Ginny I'll be by later this afternoon to help them take Jamie home. Thanks. I'll talk to you later.  
  
- Hermione  
  
When Ron woke up, it was to an empty bed. "Bloody hell," he muttered. Hermione wasn't in bed. He sat up, trying to clear his head. "Bloody hell," he said aloud, wincing at his hangover. Then he saw the note Hermione had left, in her perfect handwriting, perched on the pillow beside him. He opened it and perused its contents. Shocked at its painfully nonchalant tone, he shouted, "Bloody hell!"  
  
  
A/N: Right. I know how everyone likes a good graphic scene, but this is PG-13 (I think), and my personal choice is to keep it that way. Descriptive kissing, okay. Descriptive sex? Um, no. Use your imagination. And be honest with me. If you think this is too much for a PG-13 rating as it is, I'll fix it. It's kind of a blurry line between PG-13 and R, but I'd prefer not to cross it...  
  
Be that as it may, this chapter was a lot of meaningless fluff. But I promise, it'll move things along.  
  
Bonus points to the reviewer who names the group who sang the song quoted in the opening notes. (hint: it's awful late-80's "adult contemporary" music) And sorry this chapter took so long to post. Sometimes I'm tempted to give up school altogether and spend more time writing. Sigh. But I'm SO CLOSE to being done. With this degree at least. Tell you what, though. If you can bear with me updating slowly for the next few weeks, I'll leave you with a bonus before I fly away for my sister's wedding, okay?  
  
Thanks again for your excellent and helpful reviews. Seriously. Even if all you say is "Loved it," bla bla bla...well, at least I know I'm doing something right. And double thanks to xAngelicDevilx who gave me the formatting tip. I'll try to make use of it in following chapters. I guess this means I am forever in your debt...at least for this week. 


	8. Missed Messages

Author's Notes: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. I hope you still care. What's going on? Hermione just got up and left Ron without saying a word? What was she thinking? We might find out a bit in this chapter, as we follow the two of them through their day. This time, without any typos (which I was mortified to find in the last chapter).  
  
Disclaimer: Did you know that I am not JK Rowling? Did you know that I have nothing to do with the Harry Potter marketing machine? It's true. The only thing I have to do with it all is that I'm a fan. Thus the term FAN fiction. I'm just making all this up, and own nothing. How's that for a disclaimer?  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 8. Missed Messages  
  
Hermione sat in the waiting room of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Past and Future Events. Her interview was scheduled for half past nine, and she was early. She smiled at the secretary, who kept giving her uneasy looks, and tried not to roll her eyes. Deirdre Givens looked like she was afraid Hermione was after her job. As if Hermione had spent the past seven years studying to type letters and screen owls for someone else. No, she had much bigger plans. She smiled a bit as she thought again about her publishing deal. She would have to tell Ron about it today.  
  
...That is, if Ron was still around when she got home. Her stomach dropped, and her mouth went dry at the mere thought of his not being there. What if last night had meant nothing to him? What if he hadn't understood her note? She supposed it had been a bit abrupt. In her attempts to not sound bossy or demanding, had she gone overboard the other way and made it seem as if she didn't care? What if he read it and thought she was a heartless wench? What if he left? What if he hated her?  
  
Hermione stood suddenly, consumed with the need to make sure Ron would be there when she got home. She needed to get to the nearest owl post - wasn't there one in this building? She thought she had read that there was. She would just run up and send Ron an owl before her interview. She was early, and the Ministry was almost always late. She had time, if she did it now.  
  
She had just pulled out her wand to apparate when the large, imposing oak door opened. "Miss Granger?" Deirdre asked in her rather squeaky voice. "They're ready for you now."  
  
***  
  
Ron flung himself out of the bed and got dressed. "Nice to see you?" he grumbled. "Talk to you later?" He jammed his feet into his shoes angrily. "NICE TO SEE YOU?!!" he shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer. Even though no one was in the flat, Ron had to vent his ire. "Honestly, Hermione, what the bloody hell are you playing at here?" He grumbled to himself again. "Probably does this all the time. Nice private flat for a fling. I just happened to be convenient. Good shag for old times' sake. Bed's not too soft - she probably doesn't want anyone getting comfortable and staying." Again he shouted at the woman who wasn't there. "But to leave without a word, 'Mione? Little bit beneath you, don't you think?" He grabbed his wand and pointed it to the parchment Hermione had left on the pillow. "Well, two can play at that." The words on the parchment changed, and Ron nodded grimly. Muttering, "...knew I shouldn't have come back..." he apparated out of the flat, leaving it completely devoid of his presence, save for the bit of parchment sitting on the pillow.  
  
Hermione -   
  
Had a good time. See you around.  
  
Love, Ron  
  
***  
  
Hermione swallowed nervously, then straightened her shoulders. She was here for an important interview, which could lead to a superior position within the Ministry. She would deal with Ron later. Surely he wouldn't leave before they could talk. Whoever heard of someone leaving the love of his life after a night like they had? Thus clearing her head, she gathered her portfolio and went into the office.  
  
"Good morning, Miss Granger," said the man behind the large glass-topped desk. "It's a pleasure to see you again."  
  
Hermione was shocked, but managed to hide it well. "Professor Mahir! What a pleasant surprise!" It wasn't really. Fahd Mahir had been Hermione's least favorite Arithmancy professor at university. He was exacting and demanding and unfair in a way that made Severus Snape seem practically angelic by comparison. He'd taken a liking to Hermione, though (probably because she never answered a question incorrectly), and had encouraged her throughout her studies. She had to admit she'd learned a great deal from Professor Mahir, but the idea of working under him for the forseeable future turned her stomach. She sat in the purposely low chair offered to her and waited for the interview to begin.  
  
***  
  
Ron flew above the clouds toward St. Mungo's Hospital. Flying helped him clear his head, and he took a side route. He didn't want to meet Harry and Ginny still fuming about Hermione. As a result, it took him nearly an hour to arrive at St. Mungo's.   
  
"Ron?"  
  
He smiled down at his only sister, now a mother, looking like a painting of the Madonna and Child with baby James in her arms. He kissed her forehead. "Congratulations, Gin. You're going to be a wonderful mother."  
  
"Ron?" she persisted.  
  
But he would have none of it. Ginny was too perceptive, and if he let her say something, he'd end up blurting out the whole story, and Ron was still too angry to talk about Hermione with her best girl friend. "Can I hold him?" he asked, holding out his hands for the baby. Ginny handed over her sleeping son, and Ron caught the knowing look in his sister's eyes.   
  
"Ron." This time it wasn't a request. Ginny spoke with the authority of a long-suffering sister who would tolerate no nonsense from her long-lost brother. Ron could tell that she was beginning to lose her temper. Apparently, motherhood hadn't diminished Ginny's famous temper. Ron may have had a short temper, but his anger was nothing compared to Ginny at the end of her rope. "Where's Hermione?"  
  
***  
  
At that moment, Hermione was shaking her former professor's hand and thanking him for his time. "I'll look for your owl, then, Professor," she told him. She sighed her thanks when the door closed. "Finally!" she mumbled, closing up her portfolio. She turned to the secretary. "Excuse me, Ms. Givens. Is there an owl post in this building?"  
  
"Yes. On the roof."  
  
Hermione barely lost an instant thanking the nervous-looking secretary before she rushed out of the office, up the stairs, the the post counter. The decrepit old man at the desk looked as though he could barely manage a quill, let alone a host of owl messengers. But Hermione couldn't waste her thoughts on doubts. She felt as though this was her last chance to reach Ron before he disappeared out of her life again. Over the course of her interview, she had decided without question that her note of this morning had been cold, unfeeling, and utterly horrid. She only hoped Ron hadn't read it yet.  
  
"Beg your pardon," she began, catching the postman's attention. "I would like to send an owl." Not waiting for his assent, Hermione took up quill and ink and parchment and wrote a new letter to Ron.  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
I must write quickly, so this owl can reach you before you leave for the US. So I shall write only this:   
Please don't go.  
  
Love, Hermione  
  
Though far from satisfied with the words she'd written, Hermione checked the parchment quickly for spelling and grammar and gave it to the postman. "Ron Weasley, please." With any luck, the owl would find him before he left, and he would read between the lines and wait for Hermione. She hoped. Then they could talk, and she could confess her lo-  
  
"That'll be five Sickles, two Knuts, Miss," the postman interrupted. Hermione dug the requisite money out of her purse and even gave the poor old man a tip to hurry her message along.  
  
***  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Gin," Ron protested weakly. "Didn't Hermione tell you she'd be by later?" His ears turned red when she gave him a look.  
  
"You stayed with her last night, didn't you?" Before Ron could deny it, Ginny continued, "Ron, please. Remember that you're not the first brother to come visit today. Besides, Mum and Dad asked Harry where you'd gone last night, since you weren't at home." Ron cursed his gossipy family. Ginny smirked. "So where is she now?" She narrowed her eyes at her favorite - and most irritating - brother. "Or didn't you two get around to talking?"  
  
Ron wondered when his baby sister had gotten so smart.   
  
***  
  
Once her owl was in the air, Hermione's heart felt much lighter. Since it was nearly noon, she decided to take herself over to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite of dinner. She had some time before her afternoon appointment, and she hoped to hear from Ron over her afternoon meal. When an hour had passed with no sight of the owl she had sent, she decided to wait another hour, and ordered a glass of pumpkin juice to nurse while she waited.  
  
After two more hours had passed, though, even stubborn Hermione Granger couldn't wait any longer. All hope drained out of her as she rose from her seat to pay her tab. Three hours ago she had entered the pub with a light heart and happy thoughts of some sort of a future with Ron. It would have been difficult, apologizing and admitting she'd been wrong, but Hermione thought she could stand even that.   
  
Now it was clear. Ron hated her. It didn't take three hours for an owl to get to her flat and back, no matter what the weather. No, it was clear. Either Ron had received her owl and didn't care, or he had already returned to America. Either way, she wouldn't see him again. She sighed - as she always did when she thought about Ron - and left the Leaky Cauldron.   
  
Her second appointment for the day was in Diagon Alley, and she would just make it if she hurried. Forcing her mind to other things, she shook her head and squared her shoulders and walked toward Flourish & Blotts. Her publisher, Archimedes Welby, wanted to meet with her there, to discuss the marketing scheme for her book. She needed to be in the right frame of mind for such a meeting.  
  
***  
  
Ron had to get out of here. In the past few hours, he'd been subjected to Ginny's angry tirade, his mother's tsk-tsking (and he thought at least his mother would be on his side), and his brothers' joking comments. Even Harry - who usually tried to stay out of the way when it came to Ron and Hermione's relationship - had had a couple of "helpful suggestions" for his brother-in-law. It was enough to drive Ron crazy and make him think longingly of his work in Washington. But he'd promised Ginny he'd help her take Jamie home, and she wasn't scheduled to leave St. Mungo's until tomorrow morning.   
  
He went outside, to get away from his family and collect his thoughts, and didn't notice the chill in the air. He sat down on the nearest bench and groaned. Why did this always happen to him? Why couldn't he have fallen in love with someone less complicated? Someone like Lavender Brown, or that American girl who'd had such a crush on him at university - Mimi Lucas. But no, Ron had to go and give his heart irrevocably to the most irritating witch in Britain. Honestly. What was wrong with him?  
  
Harry Potter cleared his throat and sat down next to his best friend. Though he hadn't seen Ron in seven years, the pair had kept in touch via owls and e-mail - far better than Ron had kept up with Hermione. "Look, mate," he began. "I suppose I should have told you we'd asked Hermione to be Jamie's godmother."  
  
Ron looked incredulously at his childhood friend. "You think?" he asked sarcastically. His time in the States had improved Ron's cynical vocabulary tenfold. Then he shook his head. "Forget it, Harry. 'S my fault for getting involved with her again."  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes, then pronounced with all the wisdom of ner fatherhood, "You still love her, don't you?"  
  
Ron gazed out across the wooded lawn in front of St. Mungo's, unwilling to answer the question that had plagued him since he left Hermione's flat that morning.  
  
***  
  
Hermione felt a little better when she left Flourish & Blotts, and she apparated to St. Mungo's maternity ward determined to put on a brave face for her friends. She would coo over Jamie like a good godmother, share her book news with a determined cheer, and pretend Ron hadn't affected her in the least. For she was certain that he had left by this time.  
  
So decided, Hermione knocked on Ginny's door and went in.  
  
After handing her baby to his godmother, Ginny didn't even give her friend a second to get comfortable. In a decidedly bossy tone that could only belong to a mother, she demanded to know, "Do you still love my brother or not, Hermione Granger?" Hermione couldn't mask her shock at such a question, and in an instant her facade crumbled. She told Ginny everything.  
  
Neither of them noticed a very confused owl fluttering past the window.  
  
  
A/N: Well, I've given up. I can't just give general responses to my reviews anymore. I feel like I need to talk with each one of you! But I'll try not to, since it's the story you want to read, not my personal comments. Before I get into that all, though, I have to admit, much as I like writing, I'm getting kind of tired of this story. I'm hoping for the muse to return this weekend, but if something doesn't happen soon...  
  
First, I got my very first semi-flame! I feel like there should be a rite of passage ceremony or something. Silveray, I love Kirikarin's work, and I kind of resent your suggestion that I'm not a "genuine" author, just a plagiarist. It may not be the greatest thing you've ever read, but it really is my idea. I hope that you'll read on and see that I didn't steal this story from anyone else. I just made it up right out of my sappy little head. However, I'd definitely appreciate hearing (reading) any helpful criticisms you have.  
  
mISSbEHAVE: Hmmmm....Well, if I ever get around to the end, you'll see. But that's so far away, I can't even ponder it right now.  
  
The Marauder's Map: Of COURSE I can leave it right there. But not for long. I mean, come on. If there was perfect closure to each chapter, would you keep reading? You're right, though. The note was a bit (okay, totally) insensitive. It's that whole knowledge vs. wisdom thing. 'Mione has a lot of one, but not terribly much of the other.  
  
Molly: I love a good play on words, don't you? Thanks for your consistent reviews.  
  
And to everyone else? Hurrah for satisfied readers! I'm so glad you're enjoying this. Me, too, usually. And now on to the next chapter! 


	9. Ruddy Owl

Author's Notes: Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. It's getting closer to the end of the term, so I'm beginning to suffer from sleep deprivation... But I'll try to be consistent about updating this thing again.   
  
Harry and Ginny are lending patient ears to their confused friends, and no doubt they long to smack some sense into Ron and Hermione. Let's see if they do.  
  
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize from the HP books belongs to me. I'm just using them for fun and entertainment. Please don't sue. It's not worth your while.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 9. Ruddy Owl  
  
  
The owl, battered and lost, finally dropped from the air to the ground at the feet of the red-haired man sitting outside St. Mungo's. He looked at the owl, surprised, then looked at his friend. The dark-haired man shrugged, and the redhead bent down to take the message from the owl. He gave two bronze knuts to the owl, and read the note.  
  
Ron's head shot up as he finished reading. His blue eyes were bright, and his face was flushed. "She doesn't want me to go, Harry." He leapt up from the bench and let out a wild whoop, crushing the note in his hand and throwing it to his friend. "Go on. Read it. See what she says." He picked up the bedraggled owl and almost kissed it before collecting himself. He instead pet its heaving chest and promised it a worthy meal before it went its way.  
  
Harry adjusted his glasses and shrugged. He'd read the note Hermione sent Ron, and he didn't see anything close to a declaration of undying love in it. But, he reminded himself, this was Hermione and Ron. They seemed to go by contraries. And it did say, "Please don't go." "So what are you going to do now, mate?"  
  
"Now?" Ron shook his head slowly. He had no idea what to do next.   
  
Harry tried not to laugh - and failed. "Go find her, Ron, you git. I'll tell Ginny you'll come round tomorrow morning."  
  
"Tomorrow? Right...er, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Maybe I should just tell Ginny myself and be done with it. She's going to gloat for weeks when I tell her she was right, so I might as well get it over with." Ron's ears turned red with a mix of embarrassment and nerves. When it came to proving Ron wrong, Ginny had grown too like Hermione - she took great pleasure in it.   
  
Harry nodded slowly, a bit surprised. "You sure?"  
  
"I'll go up now, then try to find Hermione." He remembered the note he'd left on Hermione's bed that morning, and his urgency grew. If she found it - if she read it - she'd hate him. She'd be furious. She'd probably hex him. He had to get to that note before she did. Without taking leave of Harry, he disappeared toward the hospital, toward Ginny's room.  
  
Ron hurried down the hall toward his sister's room, but slowed when he noticed her door was open. He assumed she was gone, perhaps in the nursery seeing to Jamie, but he heard someone speaking, a voice he recognized well. Hermione? Here? Though it was supposedly beneath him, Ron did not hesitate to step closer to the open door. Taking care to stay out of sight, he listened in.  
  
***  
  
Hermione knew she shouldn't pour out all her problems on Ginny. It wasn't exactly fair. After all, Ginny had a newborn son to look after, an Auror husband to worry about, and an evil Dark Lord to avoid. The last thing she needed to hear about was Hermione's pathetic love life. But she'd asked, Hermione reminded herself. Ginny had asked if Hermione still loved Ron. How else could she answer? A simple yes or no would never do. "Do I love your brother?" she repeated, looking into space, casting about for an answer. "Do I love Ron? I...I don't know, Ginny."  
  
Ginny, in all the wisdom of new motherhood, sat back in her bed and waited. She knew that this was going to be a long talk. Hermione would try to make sense of her feelings, trap them in some logical formation, like a mathematic equation. Ginny had to remind herself to be patient with her friend.  
  
Hermione waved her hands ineffectually around the room. "It's just...so...Ginny, he left me seven years ago. Just up and left because he was a bit angry with me. If you had asked me a week ago if I still loved Ron, I'd say no. How could I love someone I haven't seen in seven years? Not even a word in all that time to say hello, I'm sorry, or anything!"  
  
"Give him a break, 'Mione. You know Ron was nursing a broken heart."  
  
"He was nursing a broken heart? Ron was?" she asked incredulously, her voice rising a bit with her temper. "He disappeared for seven years because I said I wouldn't marry him when I was seventeen? Honestly, Ginny. If Harry had proposed to you when you left Hogwarts, would you have said yes?" Ginny was silent. "Given up Cambridge, Ginny?" Hermione prompted. "Tied yourself down with a house and husband and child before you were old enough to really be certain it was what you wanted?" She Watched her friend. "Ginny?"  
  
The younger woman smiled. "It's different, Hermione. I've been in love with Harry since before I met him. I would have married him when he graduated from Hogwarts, if Mum and Dad and Professor Dumbledore would have allowed me to be married at sixteen." Hermione looked horrified, and Ginny explained. "Don't get me wrong - I will always be glad I went to Cambridge, and I'll want Jamie to go to university, too. But Hermione, if Harry had asked me...I would have said yes without blinking."  
  
Hermione was scandalized. Give up education? For Harry? Or in her case, for Ron? "You can't mean it!" Now it was Ginny's turn to look scandalized. Hermione quickly amended her statement. "I mean, I was just too young when we graduated from Hogwarts to think about getting married. And so was Ron. He wasn't being sensible." She noticed Ginny's eyebrows shoot up at that word, but Hermione nodded. "Yes, sensible. Being in love is all very well in its place, but what were we supposed to live on? Ron would never take handouts from someone else - not that I can blame him - so we would have ended up poor and miserable, both working at posts we hated, just so we could afford rent and a cup of tea on cold nights. In such a situation, it would only have been a matter of time before one row became two or three or four or...Ginny, we would have been fighting all the time." She shared a knowing grin with her friend. "Don't say it. Ron and I didn't fight all the time. Most of the time, yes, but not always.   
  
"And then, imagine bringing a child into that. Or, knowing Ron, several children." Hermione blushed, remembering the previous night. Ginny watched Hermione's cheeks turn bright red and thought that if she'd had any doubt about where Ron stayed last night, that blush answered her questions. "It would have been just one more thing to fight about. We would have ended up hating each other. I didn't want that."  
  
"But that's what happened anyway," Ginny pointed out. Hermione shot a surprised glance at her. When had Ginny become so sensible? That was supposed to be Hermione's job. She shook her head. It seemed that lately everyone else was being sensible. Ginny continued, "You haven't spoken to each other in seven years. What did you gain by refusing Ron back then?"  
  
Hermione stared at her friend as if Ginny had suddenly sprouted a second head, covered in green scales. "What have I gained? Are you daft? I am a scholar, Ginny Potter. I have been published by several of the best magical journals in Europe, and I am about to publish my first book. And -" She stopped suddenly, shocked at the words that had come to the tip of her tongue.  
  
"And what?"  
  
"And..." Should she say it? Dare she? Was it really true? Ginny would tell Harry, and Harry would no doubt tell Ron the next time he sent an owl to America. Ron would probably just laugh at her. Hermione amended her thoughts and said softly, "I don't hate Ron."   
  
A rather disgusted sound came from the glowing young mother as she surveyed her hard-headed friend. Even Ron was less stubborn! I don't hate Ron, Ginny mimicked in her mind. Honestly. A dozen questions fought to be spoken, questions like, "Do you often sleep with men you just 'don't hate' Hermione?" For Ginny knew very well that Ron had stayed at Hermione's flat last night. She knew equally as well that Hermione had no place for Ron to sleep except that hard, uncomfortable, horribly Muggle futon. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, even if Ron hadn't admitted it earlier, and even if Hermione's Ron-induced blush hadn't given it away. Aloud, Ginny said, "You don't hate him, Hermione? Is that all?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. Looked out the window. Got up and paced the small hospital room. Sat back down. Opened her mouth to speak. Closed it again. Finally, she turned to Ginny. Her eyes were clouded; Hermione was shutting her emotions down again. "It doesn't matter anyhow. Ron's gone back to the States, and I likely won't see him for another seven years."  
  
"Gone?" asked Ginny, confused. "But he-"  
  
"I left him a note this morning," Hermione interrupted, "right before I left for my meeting." Chagrined, she explained, "It was a bit...abrupt. So after I left my interview at the Ministry, I sent Ron an owl to make up for the note. I waited three hours for that owl to come back, and nothing." She heaved a sad sigh. "It doesn't take three hours, Ginny. My flat is less than an hour from the Ministry. St. Mungo's is even nearer. Even if he was at the Burrow he could have gotten the owl and sent it back in three hours. So you see? He's gone. I've done it again. I've managed to drive Ron away again. It doesn't matter how I feel." She turned away from Ginny, not wanting Ron's sister to see her cry, and brushed an errant tear from her face.  
  
At that moment, a bedraggled post owl fluttered into the room and straight to Hermione. She recognized it as the owl she'd sent from the Ministry of Magic offices and whipped her head around to see the direction from which the owl had come. There was no one to see. She stood up and took a few steps toward the door. She peeked out the open door and down the extremely long (enchanted) hall of St. Mungo's maternity ward. "Ron?" she called softly. But there was no one there. Her shoulders drooped, and she went back to the hospital-issue wing-back chair at Ginny's side. "He wasn't there," she said.  
  
Ginny knew who "he" was without asking. She pitied Hermione. Ginny could not imagine spending seven years without hearing a word from Harry. She was sure Hermione found cold comfort in her books and her degrees. The way Hermione had perked up when she recognized the owl told Ginny without words what Hermione felt for the stubborn, foul-tempered youngest Weasley man. "There's a note on his leg," she pointed out. Honestly, wasn't Hermione Granger supposed to be the smartest witch in Britain?  
  
Hermione picked up the small owl and picked at the knot of string that tied a scrap of parchment to its leg. She finally freed it. Hurriedly unfolding the note, Hermione read it and immediately burst into tears.  
  
Ginny took the scrap from Hermione and read it for herself, since Hermione didn't seem capable of it at the moment. She smiled and wondered where Ron was hiding to have heard Hermione's comment. The note had only two hastily scrawled words on it, but those two words spoke volumes.  
  
"It matters." 


	10. Assume the Position

Author's Notes: So...it matters, huh? But d'you think they'll EVER get around to saying those three little words - to each other? Honestly, it's difficult to tell who's thicker. But I hope this chapter will clear things up a bit. Get it all out in the open. Answer the all-important "Do you love me?" question. Well, we'll see. Oh, and PLEASE help me in my quest for perfect grammar. If you see a typo, let me know. They're so mortifying! (And no, I'm not channelling Hermione.)  
  
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was a writer named Joanne. With delightful creativity and a host of classical knowledge, she developed a treasure of "children's literature," called Harry Potter. Several years later, a slightly-less-creative fan took it upon herself to use the Harry Potter characters in her own little ficlets. As no money ever changed hands for said ficlet, there was never any call for litigation. And they all lived happily ever after. The End.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 10.   
  
Harry apparated into the hall outside his wife's hospital room and smirked as he watched Ron come down from the ceiling, where he'd been effectively hovering out of sight. From inside the room came the sound of female sobbing, as well as the tired cooing of a worn-out post owl. He recognized that warm chuckle of Ginny's and turned to her brother. "Well?" he asked, eyebrows raised.  
  
Ron grinned goofily and shrugged. "Erm...she doesn't hate me." Harry rolled his eyes and slugged his brother-in-law in the shoulder. "Ow!" Ron protested, ceasing his love-addled grin for a moment to glare and rub his shoulder. "All right, all right! I know I have to face her again, but I -"  
  
Before he could finish the thought, Harry pushed Ron into the room, following close behind.   
  
Ginny greeted her husband warmly with upturned lips as he crossed to her bedside. Then both turned their attention to the scene about to play itself out before them.   
  
Hermione, startled by the sudden appearance of the man of her dreams, looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Her mouth gaped open, and she could not force herself to form a coherent thought. Ron - here - crying - Ginny - Ron - ugh! - why? - how? - Harry - crying - foolish... Oh, why was it always like this? Here she was, startled out her her senses by his appearance, while Ron only gazed at her and smiled as smoothly as Draco Malfoy ever had. It was enough to raise her ire...which in turn aided her return to her senses. "Ron Weasley, where were you?" she demanded. "I just looked for you in the hall - did you suddenly develop the ability to become invisible?" This last bit she asked with an uncharacteristic sneer. Everyone, including herself, was surprised by it. But she had gone through a host of draining emotions in the past half hour, and she could not be held responsible for anything that came out of her mouth now. "Honestly!"  
  
Ron didn't hear the quiet chuckles of his sister and best friend as the goofy grin disappeared and his face started to redden. "Honestly, yourself, Hermione!" he shot back. "I was trying," he leaned heavily on the word, "to be chivalrous. To give you a minute, if you please. For the love of God, woman, I came up here to beg off visiting Ginny and my godson so I could apparate to your flat and -" There he broke off, unwilling to mention the note he had intended to destroy before she discovered it. "And here you were, spilling your guts to my sister! What was I supposed to do, just barge in?" His chest heaved as his temper got the best of him. Only she could raise such an instantaneous reaction in him. Well, he amended, a couple of instantaneous reactions.  
  
"It never stopped you before!" she returned with the quick skill of a tennis ace. Take that, Ronald Weasley! she thought, watching him sputter. Hermione felt as though she might be worthy of her title as the smartest witch in Britain after all. See? The situation didn't always require an intellectual dissertation. Sometimes a short retort worked better. Said quickly enough, a few simple words could obliterate her vocal sparring partner. Besides, she knew from experience that Ron could tune out a tirade in the blink of an eye. She jumped up from the chair she had so recently curled up in and assumed argument position. Balled fists on hips, feet apart, shoulders squared, chin raised stubbornly, eyes flashing. Both Ginny and Harry saw her assume the position and could barely contain their mirth, but Hermione didn't notice them at all.  
  
"The only time you ever hide is when you're eavesdropping or too full of self-pity to face the rest of the world," she told him. Ginny noticed a trace of bitterness had slipped into Hermione's voice and wondered how this particular showdown was going to end. Hermione was angrier than anyone had seen her in a long time. Ron was still trying to find his voice, so Hermione pressed her advantage. "You've been gone for seven years, so why don't I bring you up to speed?" she asked, with dripping sarcasm worthy of Severus Snape. "Your sister here, has a son. A husband. A warm bed and a soul mate and a home and a family and someone to care for. I, on the other hand, have a doctorate. A publishing contract," gasps around the room at that; she hadn't managed to tell anyone her news all day. "And a grimy little flat I go home to every night all alone. So spare me your chivalry, Ron, and tell me again why it is you saw fit to run away from me, again, in the hall just now?"   
  
In some part of her mind, logic was struggling to take hold and remind Hermione that placing the blame entirely on Ron for her seven years of solitude was unfair - to say the least. But Hermione was in no mood to be logical. It was a rare sight, Hermione Granger unhinged, but when it happened...  
  
...It was breathtaking, Ron thought. "Now see here," Harry began, thinking Hermione had gone a bit too far in her angry accusations, but Ron held up his hand. Calmer, he gestured for Hermione to continue. He, too, had noted the bitterness and pain Hermione felt - was feeling even now - and privately admitted that he was not wholly blameless for the current state of their relationship.  
  
Hermione inhaled angrily, bullish, but found that it was quite difficult to be furious with someone so calm and collected. She sighed heavily and waved her hands most ineffectually in Ron's direction. "Well don't just stand there, you great prat. Say what you're thinking. I can take it. I survived your leaving; I can certainly survive whatever you're thinking." But he was uncharacteristically silent. Their two-person audience watched the pair closely, heads swinging from one to the other and back again. Hermione, too, watched Ron, and even though his face was almost completely impassive, she began to blush. Trying to combat her more...corporeal...thoughts, she looked away. But the view out the window wasn't nearly as precious as the view in front of her. She turned back to Ron and squared her shoulders again. This time, though, it was not in anger. Rather, pure stubborn determination forced the words haltingly from her throat. "I - you - that is - Ron...couldn't you see it? Don't you know?" He still watched her, and she could detect some tenderness in his eyes. It nearly melted her determination away to nothing, but she knew she had to say it. Now. "I, well, I love you, Ron. Didn't you know that? Didn't you always know?"  
  
Tears threatened to spill from her toasted cinnamon eyes. The astonished stares of her friends threatened to make her run out of the room like a silly schoolgirl; they probably hadn't expected her to make that long-awaited declaration of love in a room in the maternity ward of St. Mungo's. And Ron - as always, his mere presence threatened to turn her to mush. Hermione closed her eyes against the reality that assailed her ears with silence and, steeling herself, waited for Ron to speak.  
  
***  
  
As Ron watched those twin tears spill down Hermione's smooth cheeks, he cursed himself for ever leaving her. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so bull-headed, they could have worked something out, something that didn't require spending seven years apart.   
  
Before he could could actually pull out his wand and do the deed, however, Harry spoke up. "Boy, am I thirsty. How about you, Gin? Fancy a drink?" he asked with a wink.   
  
Hermione's eyes flew open, and the confusion written there mirrored that in Ron's cerulean ones. Ginny, however, didn't give either of them a chance to speculate. "Indeed I do, love of mine. And I could stand to see our son, if you don't mind stopping by the nursery." She flashed a look at her brother, then a twin one at Hermione. "On your way back, I mean. Ron, take Hermione with you. The nurses will release Jamie to her a sight faster than they'd give you the chance to drop him. Please?" she added, almost as an afterthought.   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry and Ginny, but they had embarked on a snogfest and were not looking at her. She cast a sideways glance at Ron, who appeared amused, and annoyed, and willing enough to go along with the transparent ploy. He looked back at her and shrugged. "Shall we then?" he asked, offering that damned chivalrous arm.  
  
Sometimes Hermione wondered if everyone was against her.  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I know this is short, and stops at a rather intriguing point, but honestly (tee-hee), if I continued this chapter here, it would become TOO long. We can't have that, now, can we?  
  
So what are you thinking? I'm thinking it's time to give this tale more of an ensemble cast - so who's going to show up? I have some ideas, but, as always, I also crave yours. Do review. Please forgive (but point out) any errors you see. I don't have spell-check at the moment, you see. And have a splendid reading experience!  
  
ps-silveray: Glad you kept reading, and even gladder (I know, not a real word; call it artistic license) you're enjoying this thing!  
  
pps-torrence: Sorry! I know you asked for LONGER chapters, and this one is shorter, but I'm keeping your suggestion in mind. how to use it...hmm... 


	11. That Long-Lost DTR

Author's Notes: Okay, I know that last chapter left off at just an awful place. Really, that was no closure, even by MY standards. But I just couldn't have continued right there. It would have ruined all momentum. I hope this one makes up for it, though. I'm sure you've waited long enough. Happy reading!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own ANYTHING, let alone Harry Potter.   
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 11. That Long-Lost DTR  
  
  
Arm in arm the two went out into the hall. Both felt the awkwardness between them, but neither were quite ready to address it. So they walked, silently, down the extremely long enchanted hallway. Hermione felt utterly foolish for having spoken so...honestly...to Ron in Ginny's room. Ron hadn't said anything, and she was feeling quite guilty. What right had she to say that she loved Ron? After all, she had been the one to send him away. What had possessed her to blame him?  
  
Ron kept stealing looks at the young woman at his side, wondering when the moment would be right for him to say what she had said. When she'd said she loved him, his heart nearly burst. But now he wondered if she'd meant it. Hermione seemed rather loath to walk with him now. He could feel the tension in her as they walked. Yet, he noticed, she didn't pull away.  
  
"'Mione -"  
  
"Ron -"  
  
They spoke at the same time. They'd stopped walking and found themselves in front of the nursery. Ron gestured for Hermione to speak, but she'd already lost her nerve. She turned to look at the babies behind the glass, and smiled at them. Jamie Potter was right up front, near the glass, and Hermione thought he was the most adorable baby in the nursery. He had Harry's black hair, and already Ginny's stubborn chin was apparent. He was looking at them - Hermione knew that newborns couldn't really focus their eyes like that, but really, Jamie's eyes followed her, and he appeared to smile and coo happily when she smiled at him.   
  
"He's such a dear thing," she murmured.   
  
Ron raised his eyebrows, not a little bit surprised at this sudden show of maternal affection from Hermione. She'd always been so sensible, so logical, so...bookish. To see her cooing over their godson sent Ron into his most treasured vision. He'd had it often, ever since he made up his mind to ask her to marry him: Hermione, holding a small redheaded boy by one hand as Ron grasped the other. Or the two of them, gazing adoringly at an infant girl with her mother's bushy hair. Or, his favorite, Hermione, surrounded by a quidditch team of little Weasleys, smiling at him as they surveyed their little family. Seven years away from her hadn't dimmed the vision at all. In fact, Ron thought, it only made it stronger.   
  
Not that he'd ever expected Hermione to want seven children. Not even before she refused him and he ran off did he delude himself into thinking she would eagerly become another prolific Mrs. Weasley. She'd been an only child, after all. Not likely she'd have wanted so many children.  
  
Of course, he reminded himself, such speculation had been completely useless for the past seven years. She'd refused him, he'd left, and now...well, it seemed a bit late to indulge in such a fantasy now.   
  
"Look, Ron," Hermione said, nudging him in the side. She pointed through the glass at Jamie. "He's smiling at us."  
  
He couldn't help it; it was the most natural response in the world. Ron stepped closer to the glass, and to Hermione, and put his arm around her waist. After an infinitesimal pause, she relaxed in the casual embrace, and Ron released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.   
  
***  
  
Hermione felt warm all over when Ron's arm snaked around her waist. She had the strongest sensation of being home at last. She looked up at him and noticed the slight smile on his face. It made her want to smile back, want to pretend this whole day hadn't happened - pretend the past seven years hadn't happened - and just stay like this forever. Pretend they were gazing at their baby, rather than their godson. Know that no matter what happened, he belonged with her, and she with him.  
  
She sighed.   
  
It just didn't work like that.  
  
"Ron, we really need to talk."  
  
He nodded slowly, and Hermione could tell that he was wishing they could stay there forever, too. She thought it was a good sign. Even though he hadn't said those three little words back to her, he hadn't run away screaming. He didn't seem to despise her, even though she had so recently cast every kind of insult his way. It made her nervous again, and she was tempted to run away from his arms.  
  
She tensed, as the thought raced through her head. What had she just thought? She was tempted to run away? Hermione Granger? Run away? Had Ron been right? Had she really been the one to run away seven years ago? The blood drained from her face as her carefully constructed world came crashing around her shoulders. She gripped the narrow ledge below the nursery window, hanging onto it like it was the only thing she could be sure of as she questioned herself.   
  
***  
  
Ron saw Hermione go white, and he wondered if maybe she was sick. She looked about ready to faint. He released her waist and grasped her shoulders to hold her up. "Hermione? Are you okay?" She turned her face up to his, stamped with a bleakness he'd only seen once before. Then, though, her stubbornness had won out over any other feeling. Now it threatened to overwhelm her. He shook her slightly. "'Mione, come on. This isn't funny. Are you sick or something?"  
  
Hermione slowly wagged her head back and forth. Regaining control of herself, she stood up straight. Outside of Ron's contact. On her own two feet. Like she'd done for the past seven years. Like she'd done all her life, to be honest. She needed to think. Thinking was what she did best, and she knew that if she just sat down and thought this all through logically, she'd figure out what went wrong.  
  
"Do you want to go outside? Fresh air? Hermione?"  
  
She realized Ron was talking to her. She needed to answer him. She'd think later. "Sorry, Ron. No, I'm fine." She arranged her face in a smile.  
  
"Well, then. Shall we talk?"  
  
***  
  
Harry and Ginny were well pleased that their transparent ploy had worked, and didn't pretend to hide their glee when Ron and Hermione quickly took their leave. Ron held Hermione's hand as they apparated together back to her flat.   
  
Once inside the tiny apartment, Ron's eyes shot to the bed where his note lay, unread, on Hermione's pillow. Muttering a charm she had perfected years ago, he sent the note up in easily-contained bluebell flames before she could read it.   
  
Hermione gave him a sharp glance, but Ron seemed so nonchalant that she decided not to pursue it. After all, what difference did it make that Ron was turning things to ash in her apartment? He gave her that innocent look he'd tried so many times when they were children - a look she'd never believed - and shrugged. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know," she said, just as she'd said on numerous occasions when Ron and Harry were up to something at Hogwarts. "Please, have a seat." She gestured to the futon, which folded back into a couch at her word.  
  
Ron grinned. "What, no tea?" At Hermione's death glare, he sat, and didn't say anything else.   
  
For a moment, she stood in front of him, staring, waiting for Ron to start this most important conversation. Hermione noticed with some disturbance that Ron appeared to have no intention of starting this conversation. She threw up her hands in disgust and began pacing. How was she supposed to start this? So, Ron, how was your day? Right. Bloody brilliant, Hermione, she thought. Well, what else was there to say? Sorry, Ron, I'm an idiot. You were right, I was wrong, I love you, don't leave? That would never do. She'd already told him she still loved him. Didn't that make it his turn?  
  
For his part, Ron had no idea how to say all he was thinking. It was easy to fall back into their old relationship, with easy smiles and teaasing remarks and all the rest, but they were seven years older now, and both of them had lived a good deal since leaving Hogwarts. How did one articulate all of that in one simple conversation? It was impossible, from what he could see.   
  
Hermione finally sat down. At the desk where she kept her quills and parchment. Not beside Ron. That would have led to anything but talk...and they really needed to talk. With a tortured sigh, she realized if this conversation was going to happen, she was going to be the one to start it. "Ron?"  
  
He reached for her hands, effectively closing the gap between them and eliminating all safety zones. "Yes?"  
  
Hermione heard the note of eagerness in his rich voice. Yesterday that bit of eagerness after seven years apart had put her off. Today it came as a relief. It meant that there was hope. Still...what to say next? "So what did you do today?"  
  
Had she really said that? Honestly, Hermione! she scolded herself. How pathetic can one witch be? Was she doomed to a life devoid of intelligent words if she remained with Ron? For it was becoming quickly apparent that his presence had a stultifying effect on her normally brilliant command of the English language.  
  
***  
  
Had she really said that? Ron wondered. What did he do today? Well, nothing much. Lost his temper, almost severed the most important relation of his adult life - again - went to see Harry and Ginny, underwent the third degree several times, and felt his life come back together for a moment when Hermione said she loved him...then watched it crumble around his feet when she cast every sort of insult his way. All in all, a pretty dull day. What did she expect him to say? "Not too much. You?" Lord, this was going from bad to worse.   
  
Before Hermione could answer with an equally stimulating turn of phrase, Ron saved their conversation from its inexorable downhill slide. "Look, 'Mione. Let's cut to the chase. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have pushed you to get married right after graduation. I shouldn't have ignored you for the past seven years. I -"  
  
But he'd opened the floodgates, and Hermione's words came gushing out. "No, Ron, I am to blame. I was young, scared, and too full of myself and my high and lofty plans during our seventh year. I was just using you, and I ran away, too. And I haven't been very forgiving or tolerant since, either. I never expected you to disappear from my life for seven years, but it was my fault you left. I wasn't very honest then, and I haven't been terribly kind today."  
  
She looked up from their entwined hands and met his bright blue eyes. "I'm acting like a git, I know, but Ron, I can't wait another minute. I - I meant it when I said I still loved you. Even if I've never said it before, it's true. I love you. Do you..." her voice became small and fearful "...do you feel - I mean, well, how do -"  
  
"I love you, Hermione Granger. I always have."  
  
In an instant the space between them disappeared as Ron swept Hermione into an embrace that had waited seven years.  
  
  
  
A/N: Dianne: I know, toasted cinnamon. Well...call it too much poetry. Warm brown just isn't the same! :)  
  
Lady Lupin: There IS such a thing as too long. It's all about striking a balance. Had I continued that last chapter, it would have gone in another direction. New "main idea," new chapter... or maybe that's just my inner nerd coming out.  
  
HerbieWerbie: Don't go nuts. See? Here's ch. 11. And I am way too sure there'll be a chapter 12 to even put it up for discussion. 


	12. Bad Timing

Author's Notes: Well, it's been about a month since I added a chapter to this story. I am SO sorry, and I hope someone out there cares. I have a million excuses, if you care to hear them...  
  
Okay, I'm going to try to make this chapter a little more complete, and not leave you hanging, but we'll see. I make no promises. I mean, now they've finally confessed their love to one another, what else is there to say? Kidding. There's loads more to say.   
  
Thanks so much, everyone, for following this story, and for all your reviews. Your feedback really does help me continue.  
  
Disclaimer: Deep in my soul, I'm tempted to leave this out, as a form of silent protest against having to wait SO LONG for paperback books. I'm too poverty-stricken to invest in hardcover. However, I can wait one more month. And that being said, my impoverished state isn't changing because of this story, because it's totally not-for-profit and therefore protected by the First Amendment (I think - freedom of speech?). Have a nice day.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 12. Bad Timing  
  
  
After a moment, they broke apart. Hermione blushed a bit, then smiled. "So."  
  
"So," Ron repeated.  
  
Hermione bit her lip. What now? Never, in all the years they had known each other, had Hermione and Ron been able to declare their feelings like this. In the past, Hermione had been unsure. When they were young, she had a crush on Ron, but she was too serious about her classes to admit it. Besides, he hadn't always been the nicest person. And then, when his feelings seemed to change, Hermione wasn't sure she felt the same way. And after he ran off to America, she decided she hated him. Sort of. Intellectually, at least. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to have no problems telling Hermione how he felt. Only, what he felt rarely coincided with what she felt. Her juvenile crush had been reciprocated with his snide remarks and jabs at her studiousness. When he finally admitted he cared for her, it was too late for Hermione, who had gotten over her crush with a vengeance. And then, when he proposed, she couldn't imagine marrying him. When he left, it was too late. They'd known each other since they were eleven, and it took fourteen years for them to say those three little words. Would it take fourteen more years to say anything else?  
  
"Would you like something to eat? Some tea?" At a loss for words, Hermione did the only thing she could think of, even though a short while before she had given Ron a death glasre for suggesting the same thing.  
  
Ron laughed.   
  
"What?" she asked innocently. There was a glint in her eye, though, that belied the innocence of her question.  
  
"Tea? Honestly, Hermione, you're a comic genius. Perhaps you should sit down, and I'll make us some tea. Too bad you don't have any house elves. Make things so much easier." He winked at her. According to the look on her face, Hermione's feelings about house elves hadn't changed since S.P.E.W. days. "Joking, 'Mione. Only joking." He disappeared into the tiny kitchen, and moments later, he reappeared with two steaming mugs of tea. Hermione's was sweetened to her preference (Ron hoped it hadn't changed over the years) and topped off with milk. Ron preferred his tea black...with just a touch of sugar to satisfy his ever-present sweet tooth.  
  
Hermione accepted her mug with grace and sipped the tea, pleased that Ron had remembered how she took her tea, and impressed with his ability to charm the tea as well as she could have brewed it without magic. "So." She bit her lip and looked at him, anxiety seeping into her gaze. "What now?"  
  
Ron took a deep draught of his tea...laced with just enough Ogden's to ease the awkwardness of the moment...and shrugged. "Now? I think we set our beverages aside, and I take you into my arms and ravish you to within an inch of your life, my lady," he answered with a wink and a roguish grin. "What say, 'Mione?"  
  
There were many ways Hermione could have answered Ron's bold proposition, and if she was honest with herself, she would admit that she was hard pressed to decide between being annoyed with him...and accepting his indecent proposal. Before she could make up her mind, however, she heard a faint beeping. Glancing pointedly at Ron's pants, she caught his eye and grinned wickedly. "Is that a sneakoscope in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" she drawled.  
  
Ron nearly choked on his tea. He gave Hermione an approving look, then pulled the small gadget from his pocket. He looked at it, then at her. "It's a visual communicator. The Americans always have better technology. And they don't have as many fireplaces. Do you mind if I - ?" He pointed the pager-sized gadget at the wall and pushed a button. Hermione watched with interest as the face of Ron's superior appeared on her wall in front of a Klimt lithograph she particularly liked.  
  
"Weasley, your furlough's over. We need you back here immediately!" Ron stared stupidly at his boss, Andre Jorgensen. The oversized floating head rolled its eyes. "Now, you imbecile! The Secretary of Defense is making his move. People have been reporting sightings of the Dark Mark all over the country - not just in New Mexico. This is the real deal, Weasley. I expect you here in five minutes!" With that, the head disappeared, leaving Hermione and Ron alone once more.  
  
Hermione heard Ron swear under his breath. Silently, she agreed with his sentiments, and added a few more. One look, and she knew. "This is it, huh?" she asked dully. Ron looked apologetic, but she just shrugged. "Ron...maybe this wasn't - we weren't - meant to be. Go on. Go back to the States. Just...write me this time, will you?" It was killing her to let him go, now, when they'd finally begun to sort out their relationship. But what choice did they have? That was the price of being an Auror, even an American Auror. The job always came first.   
  
Ron shook his head. "Honestly, 'Mione, I'd stay if I could. This is the bloody worst timing." He leaned over and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'll be back, though. Wait for me, alright? Because I'm coming back for you, Hermione Granger. You're not escaping from me again."  
  
***  
  
Somehow, Ron did make it back to her. Two weeks without a word, and then there he was, waiting for her in her pitiful little flat, with tea and a bang-up Mexican meal waiting. He grinned, and kissed her hello as if he hadn't been gone to the other side of the world for the past two weeks. They picked up where they left off and spent the night making mad passionate love like in one of those horrid Muggle romances Hermione had found in Ginny's possession once or twice. The next morning, when Hermione went for another job interview, she made sure to wake Ron first and tell him where she was going.   
  
When she came back that evening, positively elated, she had no one to share her joy. Ron had gone again, leaving a note on her pillow. He'd been called back to Washington, he wrote, but he promised to be back as soon as possible. She sat down at her computer in order to vent some of her frustration on the keyboard.  
  
She finished an entire chapter of her book   
  
***  
  
The pattern continued all summer long. Hermione grew tired of it, but every time Ron apparated into her flat in the middle of the night, looking worn out and beaten, it was all she could do to keep from binding him to her and refusing to let him go back there. She longed to keep him by her side, yearned to give their relationship some sense of normalcy. But, she feared, normalcy was for lifelong lovers like Harry and Ginny. She hadn't even told Ron her latest news.  
  
Professor Vector had tendered his resignation to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall in the middle of the summer, having read his fate in his equations, and not liking what he read there. Thus, Hogwarts was in need of a new Arithmancy professor. And Hermione was just the PhD to fill the position. After her less than thrilling interview with the Ministry of Magic, Hermione had prayed for an alternative. She was saddened to hear of Professor Vector's retirement, but when Minerva McGonagall sent Hermione an express Hogwarts owl with an invitation to teach, Hermione practically leaped for joy.   
  
Now, though, less than a month remained before she would have to give up her squalid flat and move to Hogwarts. And she didn't know when she would tell Ron. Or how. For when she moved to Hogwarts, there would be no way for him to apparate into her rooms each night. With Voldemort still on the loose, there was little possibility of her seeing Ron at all. Their relationship was still so fragile. How would they bear this new separation? Hermione didn't want to think about it.  
  
Ron was coming back soon for Jamie's christening. She would tell him then. She sat down to her meal of chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice - for which she'd had the most unusual craving all day long - and mused on how she would drop the news about Hogwarts on Ron.  
  
***  
  
Her new job was just the tip of the iceberg, as it turned out.  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I think this story is nearly over. I have a pretty clear idea of where it's going next - probably you do, too. But I'll try to keep up, and be consistent about my chapter turnout. Thing is, I have an idea for a pathetically angsty companion story that I want to work on.   
  
Anyway, please give me your feedback. Thanks! 


	13. Revelations

Author's Notes: Well, I'm glad I haven't completely lost my faithful audience after taking so long to update that last chapter. In this chapter, it's time for a little bit of closure, don't you think?  
  
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is the computer on which I've typed this story. Everything else I'm just borrowing for fun. I'll return everything as soon as I'm done.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 13. Revelations  
  
Ron smiled and winked at the florist, taking the large bouquet of flowers he'd chosen. He couldn't remember Hermione's favorite flower, but he knew every woman liked to be surprised with flowers. He whistled as he walked up the street toward Hermione's flat. He had some brilliant news to tell her.  
  
***  
  
Hermione stared into her closet and wondered what she was going to wear for Jamie's christening tomorrow. Lately all her clothes had begun feeling tight. Apparently her appetite for chocolate frogs had had an adverse effect on her waistline. Normally, Hermione was the least vain of women. Her dress size had changed little over the years, but every now and then it fluctuated. It had never bothered her before.   
  
But Ron was coming this weekend. She had to tell him about Hogwarts. And she was selfish enough to wish for the added armor of looking good when she told him. Even her dress robes hung a little differently. It was enough to drive her mad. Why this weekend? Why now? She didn't have time to go shopping!  
  
Sighing, she picked up her wand and tucked it into her little black purse, then apparated into London.  
  
***  
  
Ron knocked on Hermione's door. Waited. Knocked again. When there was still no answer, he rolled his eyes. Women! Well, he thought, he'd surprise her with flowers some other day. He discreetly pointed his wand at the door and unlocked it. He let himself in and conjured up a vase for the flowers. He shrugged. Might as well wait in comfort, he decided, relaxing on the futon.  
  
In a minute, he was snoring lightly.  
  
***  
  
Two hours and several large bags later, Hermione reapparated in the middle of her small flat and almost screamed when she saw Ron. She hadn't expected him until later that night. He always came later at night.  
  
Ron was jolted from his nap by her bit-off scream and smiled lazily. "Hello, 'Mione."  
  
She dropped her packages, stepped over to the futon, and slugged him on the shoulder. "Ron Weasley, you scared me! What are you doing here so early?" She glared at him. "Honestly, Ron. I'm not ready for you to be here yet. Didn't you even stop to see your parents, or your sister?"  
  
Ron shook his head, trying to make sense of Hermione's tirade. Then he stopped himself. Since when had he ever really understood what Hermione was pontificating about?  
  
Hermione sighed, giving up. It was useless to be angry with Ron Weasley. He just tuned her out and went his merry way. She wondered if his blithe spirit ever annoyed his boss. Then she leaned in and gave him a welcoming kiss. "It's good to see you again," she told him.  
  
Ron smiled and kissed her back. This was more the welcome he had hoped for.   
  
***  
  
A few hours later, they lingered in the kitchen, snacking on the amazing array of food in Hermione's normally empty refrigerator. She had exclaimed over the bouquet, pleased that Ron had remembered how much she loved wildflowers. Ron decided not to illuminate her. He watched her pick at a meatloaf she had made the day before - Hermione made a meatloaf? he asked himself - and was suddenly struck by how much he adored this woman.  
  
Hermione had always been the only woman for him. These past seven years without her had been perhaps the worst seven years of his life. Not that he'd lived such a long and varied life, but pain was pain, and emptiness was emptiness, and he didn't want it to happen again. He didn't want her to ever disappear from his life again.   
  
All summer long, ever since Harry and Ginny managed to get them back together again, Ron had marvelled at his good fortune and plotted how to keep Hermione near. It had been a grueling summer; transatlantic apparation took a lot out of a wizard, and his work wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Still, it was worth it. Every moment he could steal away to Hermione's side was worth weeks of sleepless nights and months of exhausted days. It was worth the crap he took from the other guys in his outfit, worth the ribbing he got every time he saw Harry or Ginny or any of his family. Hermione - she was worth it all. He couldn't wait to tell her.  
  
"'Mione?"  
  
"Mm-hmm?" she answered, sipping a glass of fizzy lemonade.  
  
"I have something to tell you."  
  
She put her glass down. "I have something to tell you, too." She smiled. "You go first."  
  
***  
  
When Ron reached for her hand, Hermione felt the cool finger of fear tracing down her spine. He wasn't going to propose again, was he? Because she couldn't do it. As much as she loved Ron (and she freely admitted that yes, she loved ordinary, non-genius, strikingly handsome and irritatingly stubborn Ron Weasley), she was not prepared to give up her newly awarded teaching position to follow him to America. She'd been to the States once, and she had always thought London a hundred times superior to New York. She couldn't imagine trying to make a life in that country, even for Ron. But she knew there was no way she could explain all that to Ron and make him understand. Please, don't let him propose, she prayed.  
  
He didn't. "I've been transferred, 'Mione. Here. Starting in September, I'll be working for the British Aurors. With Harry, actually. I'm moving back to London."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, relief flooding her veins. He wasn't proposing. He was coming back home. Back to London. Back to...her.   
  
She opened her eyes. No going back now. She had to tell him.  
  
***  
  
Ron watched her bite her lower lip and felt his temper rise. What? What was she hiding from him? Didn't she want him to come back? Didn't she?  
  
***  
  
"I got a job, Ron."  
  
He nodded. "I know. Writing. You told me before, remember?"  
  
She nodded slowly. "I mean a real job. A teaching position." She bit her lip again. "At Hogwarts."  
  
He grinned. "Really? That's awesome, 'Mione." Had he just said "awesome?" Hermione wondered, hiding a grin. "Harry owes me a hundred pounds." Now she was completely lost. Didn't he understand? Apparently not. She tried to focus on what Ron was saying. "In sixth year, Harry and Ginny said you'd probably take some lucrative research position in the Ministry of Magic, since you're about the smartest witch in Britain. I figured you'd end up teaching back at Hogwarts." He shook his head ruefully. "Only thing Malfoy and I ever agreed on. Ginny dared Malfoy to place a wager on it. And I bet Harry. He owes me a hundred pounds." He winked at her. "Think I should tell him tomorrow?"  
  
"Ron!" she shouted. That got his attention. "Don't you get it? Hogwarts. The one place in Great Britain more protected from outsiders than Harry's house. I'll be there. You'll be here. You won't be able to apparate in anytime you please. We won't be able to see each other. Not like before. Not like now."  
  
***  
  
Ron thought Hermione was getting awfully emotional over nothing. There were a dozen ways to get around the spells that guarded Hogwarts from the rest of the world. She knew them. They'd used them after getting stuck in Hogsmeade with Harry and Draco Malfoy a few times. Hermione had been the one to tell the boys how to get back into the school after Filch had found the last secret tunnel. She'd threatened not to tell them - served them right for getting into yet another fight - but finally relented...with a little cajoling from yours truly.   
  
Ron smiled at the memory of cajoling Hermione in a number of different situations. He leaned back in the rickety old kitchen chair, enjoying the memories.   
  
"Ron!"  
  
Hermione's demanding voice jolted him back to the present. "Calm down, Hermione. We'll work it out. Remember? You're a genius, and I'm a master strategist. I'm sure we can work something out. It can't be any worse than being separated by an ocean, can it?" He stood and rounded the table to stand behind her. Massaging her shoulders and planting kisses in her wild hair, he said, "So tell me about your new job. What subject are you going to teach? You're not the new DADA teacher, are you?" Tradition begun while they were students had not changed. Every year, there was a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. No one seemed able to keep the position for more than a year.  
  
***   
  
Hermione wanted to argue more, talk through all the options, come up with a sensible plan for their relationship. She couldn't help it. She was a sensible woman at heart. But Ron had some magic in those long fingers of his, and she found herself relaxing under his ministrations.  
Instead of staying up half the night fighting, they spent the night wrapped in each other's arms. Hermione pretended to sleep, listening to Ron's even breathing, and let her mind fly through a thousand possibilities.  
  
Around four o'clock, she finally fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
Ginny noticed the change in Hermione the minute the woman apparated into the Potter home. Her glance shot to Ron, who looked awfully sure of himself. She raised an eyebrow at Harry, then rolled her eyes when he didn't get the message. Ginny adored her husband with every once of her being, but sometimes she had to admit that he was just...thick...when it came to some things. Ginny guessed that if she wanted to hear Hermione's news, she was going to have to ask her friend herself. She gave Jamie to Harry and left him to entertain their guests (for the entire Weasley clan had come to give their blessing to James Henry Potter) for a minute while Ginny spoke to Hermione in private.  
  
Molly Weasley's ever-sharp eyes followed her only daughter across the crowded living room, then watched as Hermione turned deathly pale at whatever Ginny said. Molly nodded to herself. It was obvious. Hermione didn't know. How the smartest witch in Britain could fail to recognize something so obvious to the rest of womankind, Molly did not know. But Molly hadn't given birth to seven children without learning to recognize the signs.   
  
Hermione Granger was pregnant.   
  
Ron didn't know.   
  
Molly apparated across the room, grabbed both girls' wrists, and whisked them away to the relative quiet of Ginny's kitchen. Hermione was practically hyperventilating. "What? Oh, my god! It can't be true - it is true - Ron - what will I tell - and Hogwarts - and - oh, how could I be so stupid?!!" Her voice rose to a fever pitch on that last word, and then Hermione flung herself into the nearest chair to cry her eyes out.  
  
Mrs. Weasley had held a grudge against this girl for the past seven years, ever since Hermione broke her poor son's heart. True, her heart had melted a bit over time, but Molly was like a mother bear. She would protect her cubs to her dying breath, and she didn't take kindly to anyone who hurt them. Thus, Molly was less than careful of Hermione's fragile emotions. She didn't really mean to be; deep inside, she'd always liked Hermione and respected her attention to her studies. And who could help but feel sorry for the girl? Just when she'd started to feel happy, really happy, an unexpected calamity might destroy all her aspirations. "There now, Hermione. Surely you expected it?"  
  
Ginny gave her mother a look. Only Ginny had more steel in her backbone than Molly Weasley. "Mother, please." Then she turned her attention to her best friend. "Hermione, don't worry. Everything'll be fine! It'll be perfect. Your baby will grow up with Jamie. They'll be the best of friends. And I know Ron will be thrilled, just like Harry was. Calm down." She continued to pour soothing words over her friend, until Hermione finally ceased her violent sobbing.  
  
"I'm sorry. You must think me a great gaping idiot not to recognize the signs. Cravings, skipping my monthly, the way suddenly none of my clothes fit? Honestly, sometimes I get so caught up in the ephemeral that I stop noticing the real world. Ask Ron. I almost never have food in my flat when he comes -" She stopped, flicking her eyes toward Ron's mother, embarrassed.  
  
Ginny laughed. "Honestly, Hermione. Do you seriously think Mum didn't know Ron was coming to see you? I mean..." She gestured toward Hermione's thickening waistline. "It's rather obvious."  
  
Hermione turned a lovely shade of magenta. Molly began to chuckle, too. Finally, Hermione gave into the situation and laughed. It was either that, or cry, and she'd done enough crying. She could handle this. Sure, a baby was an unforseen complication, but she would work it out. If they didn't take her at Hogwarts now, she'd just find some other work. She was the smartest witch in Britain, after all. Someone must want her arithmancy expertise. Plus, she had her writing. She'd be able to feed her daughter...or son. And there was always Ron. Ron would be thrilled when he found out. He loved children. He -   
  
He didn't know yet. He wasn't expecting it. He couldn't be held responsible, exactly, since Hermione still wasn't sure if she wanted to marry him. Still, it was his decision. She had to tell Ron. She said as much.   
  
"I have to tell Ron."  
  
"Tell me what?" the man in question asked, opening the door to the kitchen.  
  
  
A/N: Yes, we're getting closer to the end now. I do hope ff.net is up and running smoothly again soon, so I can read and reply to your comments. Please share your responses to this story with me!  
  
Lizzy (Tsuki no Hikari): THANK YOU SO MUCH for being as big a grammar nerd as I am. It's nice to know that someone else out there pays as much attention to grammar as I do. So I'll just apologize now for any typos or mistakes you find - I don't have spellcheck... Also, about the sexuality: I'm trying to keep it to a PG-13, which basically means little more than innuendo; nothing graphic. I appreciate your concern, and I'll be careful of it in the future.  
  
Christine Weasley: Thanks for your encouragement. I know. You're right. The storyline, the topic is totally typical. Nice to know that you think it's still well-written. Hmm...maybe I have a future in dimestore romances after all!  
  
Molly: I'm glad you caught the innuendo. Pity neither Ron nor Hermione are as quick. Don't worry, though. I'm a firm believer in happy endings (usually), so I'm sure that someday they'll be happy together. Someday...  
  
Lydia: hmm.... I'd be interested to know what your differences in opinion are. There are just so many ways to go with these characters.  
  
Okay, and that's all for today. Thanks, everyone, for keeping up with me. My writing skills appreciate your remarks. You are my favorite people I've never met in the world! 


	14. Telling You

Author's Notes: Well, if you're reading this, I've managed to upload another chapter, even though I haven't been able to read any reviews or anything for the last chapter. Oh well. Here we find Ron and Hermione having a very important talk. And, like any very important talk between those two, misunderstandings abound, tempers flare, and things are said which should definitely not be said. Don't worry, though. It could be worse.  
  
Disclaimer: None of the Harry Potter characters belong to me. Obviously. I'm only using them in my own little story. Not for profit. Not even for real publication. Just for fun. Calm down. I don't own them. What does belong to me is some old music, a closetful of clothes waiting to go to Goodwill, and a dog named after Norse warriors. If these things are worth suing for, well...I won't go there.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
  
Chapter 14. Telling You  
  
  
Molly caught her daughter's eye, and the two redheaded women disappeared, leaving Hermione alone with Ron. Hermione tried her best not to look like a rabbit caught in a trap as he stepped closer. Taking her hands in his, he asked again, "Tell me what?"  
  
Hermione closed her eyes for a second, and tried not to shake her head. When had she become so stupid? Silly question. She knew exactly when she had become so stupid. It was the moment she let Ron Weasley back into her life. From the very first, he'd had an adverse effect on her intellectual improvement: breaking rules at Hogwarts, losing her virginity in a moment of weakness, and now, getting pregnant, of all things, just when her life was going in a proper direction. It was enough to make her lose her temper.  
  
Somehow, the calm voice of reason broke through to the fore of her thoughts in that moment. Hermione told herself that to blame Ron for everything was childish and unfair, the act of her violently fluctuating hormones and not the result of rational thought. Rational thought dictated that she tell Ron the news that affected him, and give him the choice of being involved or running for the hills while he still had the chance.   
  
"Perhaps you'd better sit down for this one, Ron." Not waiting for a reply, she moved to the kitchen table and sat in one of the chairs (which looked as though they had been replicated from the kitchen at the Burrow). Ron followed suit.  
  
"Okay, now what is this all about, 'Mione?"  
  
He was getting impatient. She could hear it in his voice. But Hermione was unsure how to tell him. Should she sort of...feel him out first? Maybe. Although, Ron had always been pretty clear on his feelings about having children. "A whole quidditch team," he had said on more than one occasion when they were dating before. Well, then, should she just out with it? "I'm pregnant, Ron," she blurted.  
  
His expression didn't change. Indeed, Hermione thought he looked as if someone had cast a petrificus spell on him. "Ron?" she asked softly, wondering if perhaps he hadn't heard her. A little louder, "Ron?"  
  
Ron tried to process the information Hermione had just given him, but couldn't quite bring himself to believe his ears. Pregnant? Hermione? But she was always so careful, so bloody sensible about everything. And she'd made sure he was careful, too. Protection charms added to Muggle contraception were her idea. Ron had gone along, not wanting to saddle her with an accidental child when he couldn't be sure he'd be there to take care of her. Being an Auror was serious business. It was bad enough that Ron's baby sister was married to a man who might one day simply not return home, leaving her a widow and his child an orphan. Ron didn't want that for Hermione.  
  
Yet here she was, sitting across from him, telling him in perfect seriousness that somehow all their extra precautions had come to naught. She was pregnant. Hermione was having a baby. She was having his baby. She was having his baby! As that realization bloomed in his head, a smile found its way to Ron's frozen face. It grew wider, brighter, as he stared at the beautiful, brilliant, bloody perfect witch across from him. Ah, but she was lovely. From the frizzy crown of her head to the uncertain look in her hazel/brown eyes to the way she bit her bottom lip when she was worried to her full bosom - yes, Ron noted, her figure was a bit fuller than it had been when he first saw her when Jamie was born - to her seemingly long legs to the very tips of her pink-painted toes, Hermione was something else. And now she was going to have his baby.   
  
It took less than a second for Ron's daydream to come into sharp focus in his mind. It featured Hermione (Ron's thoughts nearly always featured Hermione in some form), pleasantly rounded in the stomach, surrounded by six children with varying shades of red hair. She was smiling up at Ron, who stood beside her, and holding his hand over her stomach, where he felt the strong kick of their seventh child. "A whole quidditch team," she murmured to him. "Just like you always wanted."  
  
"Ron!"  
  
Hermione's voice, worried in tone, brought him back to the present. He reached out to caress her face, to sooth the worry - and was that a touch of fear he detected in her eyes? - from her features. "Ah, 'Mione..." He jumped up and grabbed her hand. "Will we go tell everyone, then? I know it's supposed to be Harry and Ginny's day, but we've a lot to do. They'll understand. Besides, I have to ask Harry to be my best man."  
  
"Best man?" Hermione repeated. "Best man?!"  
  
Hermione jerked her hand out of Ron's. "What do you mean, best man, Ron?" she demanded. This was too much. As much as she had feared a proposal, to not even be given the opportunity of refusing Ron's hand was too much! Her hands balled into fists and planted themselves firmly on her hips.  
  
Ron glanced at her, not noting the easily recognizable argument stance, and nodded. "Best man, 'Mione. At our wedding."  
  
"Wedding?" she repeated, barely reining in her temper.  
  
He gave her a look that asked if she had suddenly taken leave of her senses. "Of course, Hermione," he answered slowly, as if speaking to a young - and mentally slow - child. "You can't expect my son to be born without my name, can you?" He gazed at her for a moment, and took note of her hands-on-hips position. Backpedaling slightly, he rushed to explain his meaning. "Or daughter." No change. If anything, Hermione looked angrier. "Well honestly, 'Mione. I don't expect you to raise our child all on your own. And teaching at the same time? Besides, I want to be there. You can't really - I mean...well, don't you want to get married? It's kind of necessary now, isn't it?"  
  
"Necessary? Necessary?!! What, for the sake of my pristine reputation, you'll condescend to marry me and keep our child from the pains of illegitimacy?" She pinned him with a death glare and continued. "This isn't 1840, Ron. You're not landed gentry, and I'm not some humble waiting-maid with no hope or future if I'm found to be with child. Look around, you prat. Your own brother isn't married, but he has children. Bill didn't seem to find it necessary to insist on marrying Acacia when she got pregnant. In fact, I'll bet he at least gave her the choice! But not you, not Milord Ron Weasley. Who do you think you are? You didn't even propose! Just, 'Oh, must run ask Harry to be my best man.' Sure, ask Harry. But don't ask me! I'm only the mother of your damned child! Don't give me any choice in the matter!"  
  
In the next room, the entire Weasley clan pretended not to listen to the blazing row going on in the Potters' kitchen. But all of the adults were a bit quieter, and willingly sent the children outside to play so that they could hear better. Not that such a step was necessary. Ron and Hermione had never fought quietly. Fred shot an amused look at his twin; George winked back. They would use this. Somehow. Maybe a new joke for their shop.   
  
Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Ron was beginning to fight back. "Oh, come off it, 'Mione. I don't think that you have no choice but to marry me. Stupid me, I guess I assumed too much. Silly of me, really, to think that after all we've gone through to get to this point, you actually loved me! No, of course not! Everything must be your way or no way, isn't that right? Doesn't matter a bit what I think, or what I want. Doesn't matter at all that it's my child, too, does it? No. Better for you to make wild accusations and send me packing, just like you did before. Well, here's some news for you to think on. I'm not leaving this time, 'Mione. You don't want to marry me - fine! We'd probably end up killing each other anyway. But you are not going to keep me out of my child's life, understand?"  
  
They were toe to toe, nose to nose again. Both were red with anger. Neither were thinking clearly. Neither cared. Hermione gave Ron a withering glance and shot back, "Understanding has never been my problem, Ronald Weasley. That's more your area, isn't it? And I never wanted to keep you out of your child's life! I told you, didn't I? If I hadn't wanted you to take part, I would never have told you, just disappeared up to Hogwarts and called on my friendship with Professor McGonagall to keep the whole thing a secret! So spare me the theatrics, Ron."  
  
In the next room, eyebrows shot up at the mention of Hogwarts. Penelope had heard about Professor Vector's retirement, but no one had known who his replacement would be. Apparently, it was Hermione. Made sense. But with the baby, would she still go?  
  
Hermione still had the floor. "You do not get to dictate my life to me! If I don't want to get married, having a baby isn't going to change that. Millions of women manage to raise perfectly normal children without husbands. I suppose I could manage it, too!"  
  
"But you don't have to!" Ron burst. "That's the difference, or has being right blinded you to the obvious? I know you can manage it. You can manage anything, Hermione. But you don't have to. I'm here. I want to be here. I-" He broke off, stepped back, attempted to calm his temper. Softer now, he finished, "I love you, 'Mione. Alright? I love you, I love our child, and I mean to be there for both of you. Always."   
  
At that, Hermione burst into tears.  
  
***  
  
Some time later, Hermione and Ron emerged from the kitchen. Hermione's face bore the evidence of her loud, racking sobs in red eyes and nose, tearstained cheeks, little gulping breaths. Ron looked a bit shell-shocked. So many intense emotions flying at him in such quick and unexpected succession had given him a bit of a crash course in the effects of pregnancy on the hormones of a normally reasonable woman. His brothers, his father, Harry, and even the women in the room, recognized that look, and extended some pity to Ron. They all remembered going through it.  
  
Of course, he hadn't made things any easier on himself by immediately assuming Hermione would marry him - without even asking her! Add to that the fact that Hermione only just discovered her pregnancy herself, and it was a volatile situation for anyone, even those with far slower tempers than Ron and Hermione. So their family was willing to extend the pair a little grace.  
  
Ron made the official announcement. "Well, I suppose you all know by now. We're having a baby." No one said anything. Ron gave them a weak grin, and expanded on his statement. "We're both quite happy about it, actually. Seriously. We are."  
  
Hermione looked around the room. Caught the eye of Fred's wife Gwen. Then Ginny's. Harry's. Ron's father Arthur's. They were waiting for her to say something, or do something, to back up Ron's statement. She squared her shoulders and stood up straight. Lacing her fingers with Ron's, she looked up at him. It took him a second to feel the pull of her particular gaze, when he was pinned to the door by the looks of so many others, when he did, Hermione was ready. She stood up on tiptoe and pulled him down to her level. She planted a very sure kiss on his lips. If she was going to have a baby, she was glad it was Ron's. She'd never want anyone else.  
  
Applause went up around them as the two embraced.  
  
***  
  
It turned out to be the longest and most emotionally draining day of Hermione's life. Not even the day Ron proposed to her came close. Or the day he disappeared. Or came back. Or any of the times Harry had managed to pull them into some sort of fight-to-the-death against evil while they were all still at Hogwarts. Or any day since. After being pompously (and a little disdainfully) congratulated by Percy and Penelope, Hermione was set upon by the rest of the Weasleys, all at once. Somehow they all got themselves under control in time for the christening ceremony, which was also attended by several of Harry's fellow Aurors, a number of Ministry officials, as well as Hermione's future colaborers from Hogwarts: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid (along with Madame Maxime and their son Ragnar), Oliver Wood (who, after a short-lived professional Quidditch career and ongoing popularity among the Witch's Weekly set, had suffered too many injuries and had taken over for Madam Hooch at Hogwarts), and several others. In fact, the only people missing from Jamie's christening were those whom no one expected to be there: Harry's Muggle family, the Dursleys. Even Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had managed to come out of their respective hiding places for the occasion. After all, this was the Son of the Boy Who Lived. It was a momentous occasion for the entire magical world. And as godmother, Hermione had had to speak to each and every one of them.   
  
After the ceremony came the celebration, for which the Burrow was opened, and which lasted long into the night. Hermione had tried to remain quiet and in the background; after all, this was Harry and Ginny's day, not hers. Nevertheless, Dumbledore and McGonagall caught her. They wanted to use this opportunity to talk to her a bit more about her position at Hogwarts.   
  
"Tell me, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore began. "Or should I say, Professor Granger?" he asked with a knowing twinkle in his eye. Hermione was not fooled. Behind the kindly old wizard mask, Albus Dumbledore was without a doubt the wisest and most powerful wizard in England, if not the world. His twinkling eyes did not deceive Hermione. Especially not today, when every other subterfuge in her world had been stripped away. Dumbledore recognized this and tried to hide a grin. Oh, the weight of the world was heavy indeed to the young! Perhaps when Miss Granger had lived a few more decades she would see that indeed today was not so trying.  
  
Still, today she appeared to be at her wit's end. So he got right to the point. "Will Mr. Weasley be accompanying you to Hogwarts this fall?"  
  
She thought she had heard it all, but at this, Hermione's head shot up, and her eyes met her professor's. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
Professor McGonagall took over. Always a no-nonsense woman, she got right to the point. "Professor Granger, of course you know we are well aware of your current - ahem - condition." Hermione blushed a bright pink at this, but did not shrink from the admission. Of course they knew. They had probably known before she did. "We have therefore alotted you a set of private rooms. We had intended to make you a head of house, but this is not a good idea - at least not this year. What we wish to know now, Miss - Professor, is if we need to make your accomodations over with Mr. Weasley in mind."  
  
Hermione gazed wildly between these two people whom she admired above nearly anyone else, and searched her mind for the appropriate response in such a situation. Sadly, there was none. Instead, she tried to answer them truthfully, with as much dignity as she could muster. "To be perfectly honest, Professors, Ron and I haven't discussed our future living arrangements. His work keeps him close to London, whereas mine will keep me at Hogwarts, of course. I thank you for the accomodations you have made for me and my child. I assure you, if my needs change, you will be the first to know. Now, if you will please excuse me, I'm a bit worn out. I think I'll just make my excuses to Harry and Ginny and go on home."   
  
Ron had been watching Hermione for some time, waiting for some unknown signal that she was tired and ready to leave. He saw her take an uncharacteristically stiff and formal leave of Dumbledore and McGonagall and was by her side in a flash. "'Mione?"  
  
"I just want to go home, Ron," she told him, and he could hear the exhaustion in her voice. Perhaps tomorrow she would be sorry for whatever she had said to Dumbledore and McGonagall, but tomorrow would take care of itself. Ron offered her his arm.  
  
"Well, then, let's go." And just like that, they were back in Hermione's little flat, their most trying day at an end at last. 


	15. Old Friends (Sort Of)

Author's Notes: Whew! It's been a crazy month or so for fanfiction.net but by this time, I hope everything's up and running with ease. Please, my friendly reviewers, come back! Thanks for the few reviews that could get through. Now it's up to the rest of you to add a deluge of thoughts and opinions and suggestions to these last 3 chapters. Thanks!  
  
Disclaimer: We're so close to the end now, and so far, no lawsuits. In order to continue that perfect tract record - sorry, I mean track record - I hereby disclaim all ownership of any and all recognizable Harry Potter characters or characteristics, as well as any threadbare plot devices. I'm just borrowing them all, earning not a penny, or a ruble, or a piece of eight or anything.   
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
  
Chapter 15. Old Friends (Sort Of)  
  
Hermione closed her books and her waved her wand at the door to her classroom. She was worn out. After two months of teaching Arithmancy at Hogwarts, she had yet to have a "normal" day. But then, she wasn't sure if she could blame it all on her students. After all, she was going into her sixth month of pregnancy. Not having been pregnant before, she was rather unaccustomed to the extra burden - to say the least.  
  
After that revelatory day at Harry and Ginny's house, Ron and Hermione had baricaded themselves in her flat for several days to thrash out their future and the future of their child. And thrash was the operative word. Emotions ran high, hexes were cast on more than one occasion, and Hermione was utterly unable to explain away the scorch marks on the ceiling of her little flat when her lease was up. And in the end, they were no closer to a solution than they had been to start with.  
  
Ron couldn't understand why Hermione didn't want to marry him now. They'd declared their love to each other - a number of times - lived together in Hermione's flat for a month before she left for Hogwarts, and they were having a child together, for crying out loud! What was the problem?   
  
She couldn't explain it herself. What was her problem? She loved Ron. Was she that stubborn and independent that she couldn't manage to let another person so completely into her life? No. After all, a baby tended to entrench itself rather firmly in a mother's life. Was she afraid of being hurt? By Ron? The mere suggestion was ridiculous. And in the past seven years, Ron had really grown up. He wasn't the same immature boy he'd been at Hogwarts. He didn't need her to get him out of scrapes or explain his homework to him or tell him anything from Hogwarts: A History or remind him not to swear or make sure he didn't waste all his money at Honeydukes or... or anything!   
  
Alone in her classroom, Hermione put her head in her arms and had a good cry. That was it, she realized. That was the problem. Ron didn't - didn't need her anymore! In fact, it was the other way around! Who had healed whose hand when Ginny crushed it giving birth to Jamie? And who hadn't been able to manage to brew a pot of tea? And who had been able to make his way in a foreign country, where he knew no one, so successfully that he'd managed to infiltrate the US Cabinet? Ron. The answer to each one was Ron. And while he became a successful, brilliant Auror, what had she managed to do? Earn her doctorate, yes, but hold down a steady job? No. Save her money? Not really. Become internationally famous in the wizarding world? Sort of - but only when she traded on Harry's fame. And she was the smart one - the brilliant one, if she dared - of their trio. She was the one everyone expected to succeed. Instead...it had taken her seven years to manage a position at Hogwarts! Even Ginny, who was younger than Hermione, had been more successful. Ginny was glowingly happy with her life, and she and Harry were already talking about a little sister or brother for Jamie. And they didn't need Hermione any more than Ron did.   
  
It was a frightening thing, to realize no one needed her. Though her sensible brain told her that she was wallowing in self-pity, Hermione couldn't help it. Maybe it was hormones, or maybe she was finally admitting the truth that everyone else had always known. If she disappeared tomorrow, it wouldn't make a lasting difference. To anyone. They'd find a new teacher for Arithmancy. Her book would just disappear into the void of a publishing house. Her parents - they had died two years ago in a train crash. Harry and Ginny might miss her for awhile, but really, she never saw them anyway. The rest of the Weasleys would barely notice her disappearance. And Ron...well, Ron would get over it soon enough. Maybe he'd go back to America. In any case, he had managed quite well without her for seven years. The only person who needed her was her child, and he (or she) wasn't even born yet. The baby hardly counted as a person.   
  
She had been crying for some time when she heard a soft knock on the door. Hermione sat up, and whispered a spell to counteract the redness in her eyes and face from crying. "Come in," she called, standing up.  
  
"Professor Granger? I had a question about -" Elspeth Montgomery began, opening the door as she spoke. But she stopped as soon as she saw her professor. It was obvious to Elspeth, whose parents were both psychoanalysts (muggle mother, wizard father), that Professor Granger had been crying. "Is this - should I come back later, Professor?"  
  
"No. Come in, Miss Mintgomery. What is your question?"  
  
"Are you all right, Professor?"  
  
"Just fine." Hermione managed a pitiful little smile for the Hufflepuff girl and got down to business. "Now, what did you want to see me about?"  
  
***  
  
Ron shook his head and tried to focus on his work. As exciting as being an Auror was, sometimes the paperwork was enough to make him reconsider his life's work. Ron had never been terribly excited at the thought of writing reports or studying books, but it was a necessary part of his work. Though there was more of it in the British Ministry of Magic than there had been in the bi-partisan House Committee on Magical Occurrences, which oversaw the American Aurors. And Ron felt like he was spinning his wheels day after day in the office, while Death Eaters attempted to regroup yet again. He said as much to Harry - several times over the past few months - but Harry didn't seem to take Ron's complaints very seriously.   
  
In fact, Ron thought with no little annoyance, Harry thought Ron was frustrated with his relationship with Hermione, and just redirecting his anger at the Ministry. Ron thought that Harry was getting a little cocky in his domestic bliss, and told him as much. Harry had just laughed.  
  
On his own, though, in his dingy flat near the Ministry, when he had nothing to do but suffer through some truly awful Muggle television (how he missed his 120-channel cable package in the US!) and think about Hermione, Ron grudgingly admitted that Harry was right. The paperwork, and the different set of regulations at the British Ministry, were not really all that bad. He'd gone through worse when he went to university in the US. No, his real problem was Hermione. Always Hermione.  
  
In the two months since she'd moved to Hogwarts, Ron hadn't heard from her - once. Before she left, they'd argued and fought and talked and planned almost continuously. Ron had (unwillingly) given up on the thought of marrying her, and they'd finally agreed to see each other as often as possible. It was not ideal - nowhere near it - but Ron was willing to try it. He was willing to do anything to keep Hermione. He'd gone up to Hogwarts with her, helped her get settled in, even had a meal with the staff one evening before the students arrived. They'd parted on amicable terms, and Hermione had seen him off with a kiss and a promise to see him soon.  
  
Since then - nothing. Not a word, not an owl, no invitations to meet her in Hogsmeade, no Floo conversations, not an e-mail or a word from someone else come down to London for the day - nothing. If not for the occasional owl from old Albus Dumbledore, Ron would think Hermione had disappeared off the face of the earth.  
  
"Weasley! In my office," shouted Harry and Ron's boss Demetrius Cornwall. "Now!"  
  
Ron left his meandering thoughts and went to join the group of Aurors waiting in Cornwall's office.  
  
***  
  
It was a Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione had been asked to chaperone the third year Ravenclaws, as their Head of House was in the infirmary with a chest cold. Hermione agreed, though in her misery she would have preferred to sit in her room and wallow in self-pity. She had a sneaking suspicion the other professors knew that. She had an even worse suspicion that Professor Gwynned wasn't ill at all. But she didn't want to be a drudge, so she went.   
  
She was instantly waylaid by three old "friends." Acquaintances may have been a better word, but today Hermione was in no mood for splitting hairs. Kendra Tremayne, the American witch who had been closest to Hermione at university, was walking out of Honeydukes (Kendra had always had a sweet tooth) with Lavender Brown, of all people. "Hermione! Hey, Granger!" Kendra shouted, with her predictable American brashness. "Over here!" As if Hermione couldn't quite figure out from which direction the shout had come.  
  
"Hermione Granger, I don't believe it! What are you doing in Hogsmeade? I thought you were going to work for the Ministry in London!" Kendra said with a grin. She hugged her friend, then jumped back in mock surprise. "What is that thing, a beach ball?"  
  
Lavender giggled - Hermione remembered well that giggle and cringed. "Come on, Kendra. It was all over the papers, and in the gossip pages of Witches' Weekly. Hermione's teaching Arithmancy at Hogwarts. And she's having -"  
  
Hermione spoke up before her private life was aired in the streets of Hogsmeade. "I'm having a baby. Kendra, it's so good to see you again. But tell me, what are you doing here? I think I've more a right to be here than you. I thought you were going to India."  
  
At that moment, the third of the trio popped out of the Three Broomsticks: Grainne Fitzhugh, one of Hermione's roommates from her first year at Oxford. Ceili was very much like Lavender, and had taken Parvati's place after the Patil twins had died in a surprise attack by Death Eaters on Diagon Alley six years ago. She and Lavender had opened up a fortune-telling business in Hogsmeade the year after Grainne graduated from Oxford. Hermione still wondered what family favors had been called in to get a flighty, non-academic witch like Grainne into Oxford's College of Magic. "Our table is ready now," Grainne called to Lavender and Kendra. She spotted Hermione and burst out of the pub to embrace her long-lost friend. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes as Grainne gushed, "Hermione? I can't believe it's you! I'd heard that you were teaching at Hogwarts, but I never expected to see you here. You simply must come and have tea with us. We have ages to catch up on each other!"  
  
"Actually, I'm meant to be chaperoning my students," Hermione hedged. But Lavender would have none of it.  
  
"Don't be daft, 'Mione. We all know that the students have free reign over Hogsmeade. Things haven't changed that much in seven years. So come have a cuppa. I love that maternity robe - it's so slimming! Did you make it yourself?" she asked as the three women dragged Hermione into the Three Broomsticks. Hermione gave herself up to an afternoon of idle chatter with the three of them.  
  
***  
  
Ron and Harry flew side by side above the clouds, on a mission from the boss to break up a suspected Death Eater meeting in Bath, but Ron had bigger things on his mind than a lot of Jane-Austen-loving pseudo-Death Eaters. What real damage could they be to the magical community, in their empire dresses and tricorn hats, spouting poetic nonsense to each other in front of a crowd of tourists? None. As far as Ron was concerned, he and Harry were wasting their time. The International Jane Austen Preservation Society was not in cahoots with Voldemort.  
  
So the two friends spent their time flying across the country talking. It was just like old times, Ron thought. They talked about Quidditch, and Ron told Harry about the American powerhouses he'd seen while in the States. Harry talked on and on ad nauseum about his son, but Ron humored him, knowing that he'd be just as bad when Hermione had their baby. And Harry listened while Ron moaned about the current state of his relationship with Hermione.  
  
"It's like she's disappeared, Harry," he said for the umpteenth time.  
  
"Don't worry, Ron. She's at Hogwarts."  
  
"I know that. But why hasn't she sent an owl?"  
  
Harry sighed, exhasperated with his short-sighted best friend. "I don't know, Ron. All right? But you didn't send her an owl for seven years. You can't hold a couple of months against her. She's Hermione. She's fine. And when she's ready, she'll owl you." Harry chanced a glance at Ron. "You could always owl her, you know." Ron grimaced, and Harry hastily continued. He wasn't in the mood for an argument with a bull-headed Weasley. Ginny's stubbornness was enough. "Look, mate. It's nothing to worry about. Ginny went through the same thing, when she didn't want to talk to me or think about having a baby or anything. It's all the hormones. Just be glad she's not here to hex you."  
  
Ron grinned at that, remembering the last fiery month he had with Hermione before she left. "She's done that already. A well-placed leprosy hex, if you know what I mean." Harry's jaw dropped. "No worries, though. I know the countercurse." At Harry's look of sheer astonishment, Ron chuckled. "Got to watch out for those American witches. All that girl power has affected their idea of a joke."  
  
Harry filed that away, suddenly grateful that Ginny didn't know too many American witches. Still, he'd have to get that countercurse from Ron - just in case. A wizard could never be too careful.  
  
***  
  
"So when I heard they were looking for another partner to lend some 'Scientific Accuracy' to the whole fortune-telling business, I signed on," Kendra was explaining. "Lavender does the crystal gazing and tea leaf readings, Grainne is a master at palm reading and astrology, and I do the more serious arithmancy part of it all. We're really successful, 'Mione. I keep telling them we'd do better in the States, where everyone's into astrology and magic - even the Muggles - but Lavender's boyfriend won't let her go."  
  
"Boyfriend?" Hermione asked politely. It was obvious that Kendra had dropped the word so that Lavender could preen.  
  
"Yes, boyfriend. You remember Lee Jordan? Well, he runs Weasley's Wizard Wheezes here in Hogsmeade, and we met up again at a guild meeting last year, and now..." She blushed prettily and let her sentence trail off.  
  
Grainne picked it up. "Now they're living together and talking about marriage, though Lee won't admit to it. But what about you, 'Mione? You've heard all about us. All we know is what we read in the gossip pages. Are you really seeing Ron Weasley? There was a picture of him from his university Quidditch team, and he is heavenly! Lav says you two dated at Hogwarts, but you broke it off. Why? I heard that he single-handedly brought down a powerful sect of American dark wizards. Isn't he working with Harry Potter now? It's his baby, right? Why aren't you two married?"  
  
Kendra stopped the stream of questions with a silencing spell. Hermione gave her a grateful look. She opened her mouth to say something when a fifth person sat down at the table.   
  
"Sorry to interrupt your girl talk, ladies," Oliver Wood said smoothly, causing all four ladies to look up, "but the Professor is needed outside. A couple of students seem to have overdosed on Canary Cremes and Ton Tongue Toffee."  
  
Hermione laughed. "Fred and George will be pleased to know that their old tricks still work." She stood and took leave of her friends, then walked with Oliver out the door. Behind her she heard Kendra's last remark.  
  
"Mm-mm! No wonder Hermione's not marrying Ron yet. I wouldn't either, if I was being escorted around town with that manly hunk of wizard!"  
  
Hermione was mortified, and hoped Oliver hadn't heard. She took a quick peek at his face, though, and realized to her shame that he had.  
  
He chuckled. "Manly hunk of wizard, eh? Great sort of friends you've got, Professor. Better not let Ron hear them say that. I'm not as fast as I used to be. Don't think I could outmanoeuvre a hex from an angry Weasley." He laughed again.  
  
Hermione burned with humiliation.  
  
  
A/N: Herbie Werbie - I'm glad that last chapter was a bit confusing. I hope this one cleared things up a bit.   
  
Molly - Well, I'm so glad I've brought you over to the other side. I mean, I'm glad you like my take on Hermione. Hope you continue to do so.   
  
And to my other readers: PLEASE! I know it's been impossible to leave your reviews for awhile now, but now that ff.net's back up and running (for the moment at least), I do covet your responses. Criticism helps to mold the writer into a better writer. And I want to be a better writer. 


	16. Just When You Thought It Was Safe...

Author's Notes: I've had several requests for a more well-rounded cast. Well, I hope this chapter will help to meet those requests. As always, you may expect love and hate, misunderstandings and clarifications, anger and happiness, maybe even a good argument, and as always, enough fluff to keep three carnivals in cotton candy for months.  
  
Disclaimer: Shoot. I was going to put in the ever-so-legal sounding one...but I've forgotten it, and my short tenure in a law firm did little to inspire a thirst for legal jargon. So we'll just have to make do with this: I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter. The characters were dreamed up by JK Rowling, printed by a slew of publishers (Scholastic, Bloomsbury, etc.), and put on screen by Warner Brothers. I had nothing to do with any of it. This story intends no copyright infringement and earns no money, or any other type of remuneration. Thank you, and have a nice day.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 16. Just When You Thought It Was Safe...  
  
It took all of Hermione's forbearance to assist Oliver with the three students who had succumbed to the lure of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Between his cavalier attitude, Kendra's unbelievable remark, and her own fears that Ron no longer wanted or needed her, Hermione's temper was short. Why had he come to get her to help with the students? He was a wizard, and a former professional Quidditch player, and there were a number of other teachers in the vicinity. She was no more necessary to the procedure than she was necessary in a Weasley family portrait.   
  
After they'd seen the last student (who was ill with a stomachache, nothing more) into Madame Pomfrey's care, Hermione slowly headed back toward Hogsmeade. "Hold on there, Professor," Oliver said. "Where d'you think you're going?"  
  
She shot him a look he barely remembered from his student days. "Hogsmeade, Mr. Wood. To oversee the rest of my students. You remember them, correct? They're the small, youngish witches and wizards we're responsible for teaching."  
  
"Right." He looked her up and down, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that he was checking her out. She tried to glare, but was really just too tired to do it well. "I don't think that's a good idea, Professor. You're exhausted. That's not good for someone in your condition, is it?"  
  
She couldn't help it. The idea of Oliver Wood giving her maternity advice, and with such a solicitous look on his face, was simply ludicrous. She grinned. "And what would you know about what's good for someone in my condition?" she teased. "Do you have a wife and child hidden away in these walls somewhere?"  
  
He put his hand to his heart, and staggered around the corridor as though he'd been shot. "A hit! My heart bleeds in the face of your small opinion of me, my lady." He faked a swoon, landing on the bench beside her, reminding her for all the world of Ron. "Just because I made my name flying on a broom doesn't mean I'm completely uneducated, 'Mione," he told her with a wink. "I do read, you know."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at his melodramatics, but didn't contradict him. She still remembered having the same argument with Ron, only in reverse. "I've heard rumors," she admitted, "but I've never really believed them." Her eyes sparkled with amusement as Oliver pretended to be deeply offended by her remarks. She was surprised to hear a girlish giggle escape from her throat.  
  
Oliver Wood grinned at his fellow teacher, then tucked her arm companionably through his. "Come on. I'll see you to your rooms, then I promise I'll take care of the rest of your students. You just rest, 'Mione."  
  
There is was again. He'd called her 'Mione. Once alone in her rooms, Hermione tried to square this Oliver Wood with the Quidditch-possessed boy she remembered from school. Then, he'd worked Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team half to death in his quest for the Quidditch Cup. At meals and in the Gryffindor common room, she couldn't remember him ever talking about anything else. He certainly hadn't had time for girls then - especially not bookish, stand-offish, prefect-in-the-making little Hermione Granger. And to be honest, she'd barely had the time for him, either. She was only thirteen when he left Hogwarts. They occupied two very different spheres then, connected only by their shared house and Harry Potter. So what made him so chummy with her now?  
  
A sharp pain in her side stopped all Hermione's musings. She gripped her bedpost and waited for the spasm to end. When it did, she sank down onto the floor, gasping for breath and racking her brain for an explanation other than the one she feared. Another pain shot through her, and Professor Granger fell in a dead faint.  
  
***  
  
The owl that flew with purpose toward Harry and Ron seemed vaguely familiar to Harry, who had kept in touch with Professor Dumbledore since leaving Hogwarts. The familiar green ink on the parchment the owl held clinched it. "It's a Hogwarts owl," he whispered to his friend.   
  
As if Ron needed any encouragement. He'd been waiting to hear from Hermione for months. He'd memorized the owl that carried correspondence between Harry and Dumbledore, and as soon as he saw the owl, he'd recognized it. He tore open the letter, leaving Harry to deal with the owl while he eagerly perused the parchment.  
  
Harry watched anxiously as all the color drained from Ron's face. It seemed even his bright red hair had dimmed. "What is it?" Ron wordlessly passed him the parchment.  
  
Harry read it, and felt the shock hit him like a punch in the gut. His normally bright green eyes dulled as he met Ron's pained gaze. "I'll get Ginny and meet you there. You just -" Before he could finish his sentence, Ron, with a soft pop, had apparated.  
  
***  
  
Ginny left Jamie (a little unwillingly) with Percy and Penelope, and flew with her husband toward Hogwarts. When Harry had told her, Ginny couldn't believe it - wouldn't believe it. But Harry was so serious. And there were tears in his eyes. He'd told her that Ron had apparated to Hogwarts as soon as he got the owl. She'd immediately flooed Percy (who lived nearby) and asked if he and Penelope could take care of Jamie for her. Penelope agreed before Percy could even begin one of his ever-pompous speeches. Then Ginny had flooed her parents, telling them what was happening. In another minute she had pulled her old broom out of the closet (it was faster if she and Harry flew separately), and they were off.  
  
She was silent as they flew over the English countryside. Her mind whirled with thoughts and bits of the past, snippets of memories, partly-forgotten aches, anguish for her friend and for her brother. She urged her broom to go even faster as tears began to slip unnoticed from her eyes.  
  
A miscarriage. Her soul ached as the word emblazoned itself in her mind. Ginny well remembered the emptiness, the hollow pain, the heartbreak that came from that word. She and Harry hadn't talked about it much, with each other or anyone else, but three months after their wedding, she had miscarried their first child. Jamie, cherished baby though he was, was Ginny's second child. She would never forget the first one, the one she had only know existed for five short weeks. She could well imagine what Hermione was going through now.  
  
***  
  
Ron sat beside the infirmary bed, staring at his beloved with tear-washed eyes, willing her to wake up. He'd tried to apparate into Hogwarts, but was blocked at the entrance - apparently all the wards were still up and going strong. He'd had to settle for the Forbidden Forest, through which he ran with no thought to the dangers that lurked therein. Hermione was in the castle. Nothing could have kept him from her.  
  
But now he'd been sitting by her side for over an hour. He had cried at the sight of her, lying there, pale and unmoving, looking for all the world as though she'd been visited by death. Nor was he ashamed of his tears. This was Hermione, after all. He would not lose her again. He couldn't.  
  
The door opened, and Ron looked up. Harry and Ginny came in, to share in his silent watch. Later, others filtered in. Wood, McGonagall, Snape, Dumbledore, several of Hermione's students, Lavender Brown and two other witches Ron didn't recognize. He could hear half a dozen members of his family out in the corridor. His mother was insisting she be let in. Ron smiled - Madam Pomfrey was no match for Molly Weasley. As if to prove his point, his mother made her way to Hermione's bedside a moment later.  
  
***  
  
Hermione heard a buzz of activity around her: whispered voices trying not to wake her. There were so many, though, that she couldn't help but hear them. She was acutely aware of two things. One: the pain in her abdomen. Two: Ron. Her eyes were closed; she couldn't see him. In all the whispers, she couldn't hear him. But she knew as well as she knew what had happened to her that he was at her side, holding her hand. She smiled faintly.  
  
"'Mione?" he said aloud. She was shocked at how loud his voice was. "'Mione!" he said again. She forced her eyes open and smiled again.   
  
"Quiet," she croaked. "My head hurts."  
  
***  
  
Some time later, when the cheering had died down and Hermione had slept off her draught of Dreamless Sleep, she woke again to see Ron at her side. He gave her a heartbreakingly dear smile. She bit her lip. "I - I lost the baby," she told him softly. "I knew it as soon as the first pain came. Ron - I'm so sorry." She began to cry, tears of guilt, mostly. She'd known she wasn't taking the best care of herself since she arrived at Hogwarts. She hadn't eaten well, hadn't slept well, hadn't been active enough, had wallowed in self-pity while she should have been caring for the child in her womb.   
  
Ron brushed her wild curls away from her face and tried to hush her. "It's okay, 'Mione. It wasn't your fault."  
  
"Yes, it was."  
  
"It wasn't. Hermione, accidents happen. No one blames you."  
  
"I blame me!" she emphasized, sitting up with some effort. All of Ron's sweet excuses did nothing for her state of mind. She was guilty; she was at fault. Like the Head Girl she once was, she was tormented with responsibility, and felt it only right that she atone for her actions. Her temper rose with every kind word he said. "You don't know. You weren't here!" She winced as she heard the accusatory tone of her voice. "What I mean is, Ron, I -"  
  
But her unplanned barb had hit home. Ron flinched at the words that spewed from her mouth, and she nearly cried at the hurt she saw in his eyes. Hurt she had caused. He nodded slowly. "I know what you meant, Hermione." His bleak gaze swept over her now-flat abdomen. "I know, and I'm sorry. You don't want me here now. I'll go." He gently pulled his hand from hers and set it on the bed. Then he turned and walked slowly out of the infirmary, a stooped and beaten man.  
  
Hermione turned to face the wall and cried.  
  
***  
  
Days later, Hermione had been premitted to leave the infirmary. Poppy Pomfrey, as overprotective as ever, had been unwilling to let her go even then, but there was really nothing else the medi-witch could do for Professor Granger. And Hermione had not been the pleasantest of patients. She'd had more visitors than anyone since Harry had graduated from Hogwarts, but they hadn't put the professor in any better a mood. In fact, they made her even more irritable.  
  
Hermione decided not to illuminate Madam Pomfrey on the real reason for her irritability. The last thing she needed was any more pity. Harry's green eyes were filled with pity whenever he looked at her. All of the other professors had practically drowned Hermione in kindness - even Professor Snape, who had taken over most of her Arithmancy classes while she was an invalid. Her students, most of whom were a bit scared by her situation, nervously brought cards and news to the infirmary; the sixth- and seventh-year girls were especially solicitous to her situation. (Hermione, being obviously pregnant and just as obviously unmarried, had been a natural confessor for the hormone-driven teenage girls of Hogwarts.) Only three people didn't appear to pity her: Ron - who hadn't come back - and Ginny - who counseled Hermione as one who had been through it before - and Oliver Wood, who regarded her with some sadness but felt it his duty to take her mind off her situation.  
  
In fact, Hermione thought with a modicum of pleasure, Oliver had been brilliant. He'd been the one to charm Poppy into releasing her from the infirmary. He'd overseen the cleaning and redecorating of Hermione's rooms. He'd visited her every day after the evening meal, bringing her contraband Every-Flavor Beans (which he'd carefully screened for unwelcome flavors, he told her with a wink) and gossip. Mr. Wood was every boy's favorite teacher, bar none, and a good number of the girls thought he was handsome and dashing and someone to swoon over. As a result, he was privy to a lot of gossip even Professor Dumbledore was unaware of. He shared all of it with Hermione, making her laugh with his impersonations.   
  
And he didn't mention Ron once.  
  
***  
  
Ginny helped Hermione move back to her rooms, asking her one last time if she was certain she wanted to stay. "Mum wants you to recuperate at the Burrow, 'Mione. And you know that you're always welcome to stay with Harry and me." She took a deep breath and continued, "And Ron's going mad in London without you." At Hermione's closed-up face, she said, "Honestly, Hermione, he's blaming himself. He thinks it's his fault, because he wasn't here. No matter what Harry tells him, he won't believe it. And you're not making things any easier."  
  
Hermione glared at her closest girl friend with all the anger she could muster. "I'm not making things any easier? I'm not?" she repeated. "So you think it's my fault, too? Of course you do. He's your brother, after all. When it all comes down, blood always tells. Well, I'm so sorry your sad, unhappy brother can't deal with what has happened. But to be honest, I really don't care. He's not making this any easier for me, either, Ginny. Remember me? The woman who lost her baby all over the floor of Hogwarts? He hasn't even tried to speak to me since it happened. Do you know who has? Oliver bloody Wood, of all people! The man teaches flying, for heaven's sake. We have nothing at all in common, but he's been here for me! Him! Not Ron. So spare me the pity for Ron, if you please."  
  
Ginny shook her head. "I'm not taking sides, 'Mione. I know what you're going through." Hermione snorted. Ginny narrowed her eyes and decided it was time for some tough love. It had only been a week, and Ginny knew Hermione was only at the beginning of the healing process, but Ginny had an extremely low tolerance for self-pity in any form. She figured she had given Hermione long enough. After all, she'd already shouted at Ron for his wallowing. It was Hermione's turn.  
  
"I do know," she insisted. Hermione's eyes held a sharp gleam of challenge. Ginny just arched one of her fine eyebrows. "Do you really think you're the only person this has happened to, Hermione? D'you think you're some kind of medical miracle, the first witch ever to miscarry? Well, I have news for you - you're not. My mum was pregnant ten times, 'Mione. Ten. And Jamie wasn't my first pregnancy. I lost a baby a few months after Harry and I got married. Okay? So when I say I understand what you're going through, I do."  
  
***  
  
Long after Ginny had gone - promising to return the next afternoon - Hermione sat in her bed, pondering the revelation she'd heard. Ginny had gone on to shock her a few more times, but nothing had been as astonishing as the first. Why hadn't they ever said anything about the miscarriage? she wondered. Hermione had been Ginny's confidante for so long that she thought she knew everything about the younger woman. Being one of Harry's best friends just meant Hermione had even more insight. Yet Ginny had never said a thing to anyone about her miscarriage. Until now, so much later. It was enough to chew on for the next three weeks, all by itself.  
  
But that hadn't been the end of Ginny's tirade, not by a long shot. She'd also attacked Hermione about her friendship with Oliver Wood, suggesting that there was more to it than met the eye, and that was why Hermione had sent Ron away - why she hadn't spoken to him since coming to Hogwarts in the first place.   
  
As vehemently as Hermione denied anything untoward in her unexpected friendship with Oliver Wood, Ginny only put words to Hermione's own unspoken thoughts. Bu that was nonsense! There was nothing at all between her and Oliver. They were friends, peers, if you would. And Hermione loved Ron.   
  
Which only made her feel worse about the way she'd treated him.  
  
  
A/N: Wow, this chapter totally took on a life of its own! I'm still not exactly sure where it came from, and now I'm rather at a loss as to what will happen next, but I don't mind, really. Makes writing a little more exciting, you know?  
  
I do hope you all enjoy it, as well. And thank you for your happy new reviews! For those of you who e-mailed me your reviews while ff.net was down - you get bonus points for being extra serious about your reviewing. I should take lessons! 


	17. Flying Lessons

Author's Note: Right. Sorry about the quick trip into the land of daytime television in that last chapter. (Silver Phoenix - I know, I know. I don't know what got into me.) Like I said - I have no idea where it came from. Maybe I'm destined for a job writing for General Hospital?  
  
All that aside, let's have a touch of happily ever after, shall we?  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Any of it. And I'm not making money off it. Nobody is. So please don't waste your time suing me. You have better things to do, and so do I.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 17. Flying Lessons  
  
On her first day back in the Great Hall, Hermione was showered with well-wishes and supportive smiles. She tried to accept it all quite graciously, but all she could think about - all she'd been able to think about for days now - was Ron. All day long she was distracted in her classes. Someone must've threatened her Slytherin students, because not one of them put a toe out of line. This was uncommon - she was, after all, a former Gryffindor, and of Muggle parentage at that! She made a mental note to thank Snape at the next staff meeting, then scratched it, knowing he'd just sneer and pretend he hadn't done a thing.   
  
Nevertheless, she was grateful. The last thing she needed to deal with was sniggering students and childish hexes.  
  
Somehow she made it through the day. At last, her seventh year all-house advanced arithmancy class was over. She stood wearily and dismissed her class. Her mind raced in a hundred directions, trying to figure out just how she could speak to Ron again. She was barely paying attention to her students, and didn't notice their whispers, or the giggles from the girls.  
  
"How's your first day back, Professor?" came the cheery lilting voice she'd begun to know so well.  
  
She looked up, and smiled at Oliver, who was leaning against her doorway, looking for everything like a GQ ad. She shook her head. "Just fine, Mr. Wood. And your flying lessons?"  
  
He grinned, then sauntered in - yes, Hermione thought, sauntered was just the right word for that "I'm-a-famous-Quidditch-star" swagger (Viktor Krum had done it a couple of times, she remembered) - and took the stack of books from her arms. "Brilliant. You ought to try it sometime." At her unladylike snort, his grin widened. "Nothing like a new challenge to get your mind off old troubles, 'Mione," he told her. "Think how impressed they'd be."  
  
They?   
  
"Flying a silly broomstick around the Quidditch pitch isn't likely to make me forget anything, Oliver," she answered sharply. "And I'm not out to impress anyone."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing a word she said. "Oh no? Then what's this about?" He levitated a scrap of parchment from his pocket and waved it her way. Hermione caught it as they walked down the hall, and read it:  
  
***  
  
Arithmantic Equations in the Ming Dynasty  
by Dr. Hermione Granger  
  
See the Brilliant Witch in Person!  
Ask her your Questions!  
Get some Answers  
From the Smartest Witch in Britain!  
  
Flourish & Blotts  
19 February  
  
Order Your Copy Today!  
  
***  
  
She stopped walking. Her jaw had dropped to the floor. She didn't remember agreeing to any personal appearances. She didn't remember the question even being asked! Then, before her eyes, the ink on the parchment swirled around and reformed into a very...becoming...pen-and-ink drawing of the "famous" Dr. Granger. She could feel her face turning red as embarrassment flooded her veins. She dropped the offending parchment in disbelief.  
  
"They - they - I can't...Oliver, this is ludicrous! I am not embarking on a signing tour for a book that no one but historians and spectacularly bookish wizards will want. What is this madness? I have to go. I'll speak to Dumbledore. He'll take care of this, this - nonsense!"  
  
Oliver chuckled. "Ah, don't get your knickers in a twist, Professor. 'T's all in good fun. Likely Dumbledore knows. These things are up all over Hogsmeade, and London, too. I saw them myself, when I was in Diagon Alley looking at new brooms. It's good for the school, to have a famous author like you teaching the next generation of witches and wizards." The look of horror on her face told him she didn't believe any good could come of such blatant commercialism. "And think," he finished, "it'll give you a chance to see Ron Weasley again."  
  
That silenced her. Professor Granger was almost immediately lost in thought. Oliver was right, she knew. This book signing was the perfect excuse for her to go to London. And while she was there, it made perfect sense that she would see Ron. She had to see him. She needed to know, to have him wipe away her insecurities. She needed to hear him say that he still loved her, still wanted her, even without the baby.  
  
***  
  
Ron sat back from his desk with a grimace that would frighten small children. He looked around at the office he shared with Harry and sighed. Being an Auror in Britain wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He wasn't the head of his sector - Harry was. He wasn't given special assignments - he was too new to the department. His opinions weren't requested in strategy sessions - "This isn't America, Weasley." Harry tried to run interference for him, but Ron had spent his entire childhood being overshadowed by the Boy Who Lived. Back in the States, he'd been respected on his own terms. For once, he hadn't been the sixth Weasley. For once, he hadn't been Harry Potter's Best Friend. For once, he'd been the one in the spotlight.  
  
He missed it.  
  
He shook his head. That wasn't completely true. Sure, he missed the autonomy he'd had there, but he could manage without it. It was good working with Harry again. And he liked being back in England, where the tea was strong and fragrant, where the women didn't feel the need to put on their makeup with a trowel each morning, and where he could cross the entire country in an afternoon, instead of a week. No, what he really missed had nothing to do with work.  
  
He missed Hermione.  
  
Hermione. She was going to be in London. He'd seen the flyers that were suddenly everywhere. Not that she'd told him about it. He figured she was still upset with him for not taking better care of her. But he wouldn't let that stop him from seeing her. Come February, they were going to work this out, once and for all!  
  
***  
  
Christmas at Hogwarts had always been full of secrets and adventures for Hermione. This Christmas, however, was poised to be the worst one on record. She was away from all her friends, away from Ron (not that that was anything new) and still felt the lingering effects of post-partum depression. She had spoken to Dumbledore, who happily admitted to conspiring with Flourish & Blotts about her book signing. Though she agreed in principle that it would be good publicity for Hogwarts, since when did Hogwarts need good publicity in England? Everyone in the magical community knew the place, and most of them had either passed through its hallowed halls, or would in a few years. The event only added to Hermione's fatigue and lack of Christmas spirit.  
  
But twenty-three students had remained at Hogwarts for the holidays. Nearly all of them were Muggle-born. Snape (who by some miracle continued to act as a spy on the Dark Side) had warned Dumbledore of an impending Death Eater attack on the Muggles, and the Headmaster had chosen to keep as many of his students alive as possible. And that meant that, along with everything else, Hermione (with the rest of the staff) had twenty-three rather anxious students to put at ease and share the holidays with. And when she discovered the truth of why so many students had remained at the school, she worried. For Ron, and Harry, and Percy (who still worked in the Ministry), and Ginny and baby Jamie, and...  
  
All of this being true, Hermione did not wake up Christmas morning with any sort of childlike glee at the sight of the pile of presents at the end of her bed. She did manage to work up some enthusiasm, however, when she opened the first one. A Magical History of the Far East. She had a copy, of course, but this one was far superior, with gilded pages and a tooled leather binding. She opened it eagerly and sighed at the pleasant sound of never-opened pages crackling apart. Was there any better sound in the world? She would have to send Ron a thank-you owl. She knew how difficult it must have been for him to select such a book for her, when they weren't even speaking.  
  
The rest of her gifts were pleasant as well. A sweater and some fruitcake from Molly Weasley (who had never stopped knitting Christmas sweaters for her family and now spent nearly all year with a skein of yarn and knitting needles charmed into knitting even when she wasn't), several other books from friends and fellow professors, and a token good for one free treatment at the Inner Eye, Lavender and Kendra and Grainne's fortune-telling shop. That, at least, made her laugh. Especially when the profile on the token winked at her.  
  
And at the bottom of the pile was a package that looked suspiciously familiar. Hermione narrowed her eyes as she read the card. It was from Oliver. She clenched her jaw. No need to unwrap it to know what it was: a broom. The card said that her flying lessons would begin the following afternoon.  
  
***  
  
She was smiling once more when she appeared in the Great Hall that evening, and the twenty-three students shared a mutual look of relief. Professor Granger was difficult enough when she was at her best. Ever since "the accident," she'd been pretty near unbearable. Almost as dour and dreary as Professor Snape...though not as obviously biased.  
  
Her fellow teachers, too, were relieved to see the young professor back to her former self. Though it would be a long time until she had healed completely, seeing Professor Granger with a smile on her inquisitive face was a welcome Christmas gift.  
  
While the Hogwarts staff and students pondered her return to the land of the living, Hermione remained blissfully unaware, and slid into her seat at the head table. "Happy Christmas, Hagrid," she greeted the aging giant seated on her right.  
  
"'Appy Christmas, 'Mione," he replied, already deep into his cups.  
  
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Wood," she said to the teacher on her left. Holidays or not, Hermione felt compelled to use proper titles in front of the students.  
  
"Happy Christmas, Professor Granger," he returned, biting back a grin. "Pudding?" h  
asked, passing her a dish.  
  
"Thank you, no," she told him. Instead she reached for the mashed potatoes. She had intended to demand to know what he meant by giving her a broom for Christmas, but now she realized that such an approach would be rude, to say the least. Instead she mulled it over while feasting on the efforts of the house elves. Oliver, she noticed, didn't say anything, just watched her with that annoying grin and refilled her glass whenever she emptied it.  
  
Finally, when the dessert course appeared on the tables, she sighed heavily and spoke to him. "I must thank you for your gift, Mr. Wood." She felt a sharp twinge of guilt as the words came forth in a stilted, decidedly ungraceful tone. "I mean -"  
  
"No need, 'Mione," Oliver interrupted - much to Hermione's relief. Then he winked. "Will I meet you out on the pitch tomorrow? Half two, say?"  
  
She blushed; then, realizing she was blushing, and realizing nobody ever made her blush like this but Ron, blushed even brighter. "Mr. Wood, you must realize I -" He interrupted her again, this time just by holding up his hand to her tumble of words. "What?"  
  
"Call me Oliver, won't you? We're not in class now." He continued quickly, before she could refuse. "You've heard rumors that I read, and I've heard rumors that you can fly. But I don't believe I've ever seen it. So come with me tomorrow. I'll see what you can do, and give you a couple of pointers so you won't be so afraid."  
  
"Who says I'm afraid?" He gave her a look that would have garnered a sharp retort, had Ron or Harry or one of her students done it. But it was difficult to lose her temper with Oliver. He was just too obliging. She settled for a sort of grimace. "Fine. So I'm afraid. So what? You try growing up Muggle and then see if you're so eager to get on a flying stick and zoom around a hundred feet above the ground. It's only logical to be a bit...nervous."  
  
"Brilliant!" With that, Oliver dug into his plateful of pudding with the eager greed of a little boy. Hermione watched him for a moment, wondering if she would ever completely understand this seemingly simple man who always seemed to know just what to do.  
  
***  
  
"Well, there's your problem," Oliver said the next afternoon. Hermione felt utterly foolish, clutching her sleek new broom, and trying to remember everything she knew about flying. And already Oliver Wood, Quidditch pro, was criticizing her approach.  
  
"I haven't even kicked off yet, Oliver!" she half shouted. Then she muttered, "I swear on the sould of Madam Hooch and all the Chudley Cannons - he'd better not let me fall."  
  
The handsome flying master chuckled, having heard every word. "Don't worry, 'Mione. You're not going to fall. Now look at the way you're holding your broom. You've got it in a death grip! Flying is like riding a horse. The broom can sense your fear, you know."   
  
She snorted. "I knew the quidditch-mad Oliver Wood of the past was in there somewhere. Really, you and Ron should get together and form a society devoted to the love and proper handling of the ever-skittish modern broom. I can't tell you the number of times he's fed me that line of rubbish."  
  
"Well, if you've heard it before, why don't you believe it, Professor?"  
  
"Well, Mr. Wood," she returned with a heavy dollop of sarcasm, "because this broom is inanimate. It is a piece of wood. Not living, not breathing, not feeling."  
  
He laughed. Hermione couldn't believe it. He laughed! She began tapping her foot. "Ah God, Hermione. That's wicked funny." She wasn't laughing. He sobered a bit, but couldn't manage to chase the lopsided grin from his GQ face. "You're not in earnest...are you?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
He guffawed. "Because you're a witch! Every magical person knows that everything - animate, inanimate, everything - is affected by the witch or wizard wielding it. It's basic magical knowledge - first year stuff. D'you not remember buying your wand? Testing a few? Remember how they all worked differently, until you landed on just that right one?" She nodded, a bit unwillingly (Hermione still hated to be wrong). "Well, a broom's the same. Anybody'll have a bit of a bad time of it on those old Hogwarts brooms. What you need is a broom you can trust - and a broom that trusts you. You can't clamp onto it like a vise and expect it to work well." She just rolled her eyes. "What?" he asked in a slightly injured tone. "Don't you believe me?"  
  
"Oliver," said Hermione in her teacher voice, "please give me some credit. I have read up on the subject of flying. Do you honestly think I wouldn't have tried to perfect my technique long ago if it would make any difference at all? I've read nothing that says a broom can sense the feelings of its owner, that it can think." He made a particularly rude noise. "What is it? Are you telling me that all of those books - including a Chudley Cannons guide featuring yourself - are wrong? That you alone hold the key to proper broomstick flying? Have we overinflated our ego, Mr. Wood?"  
  
He shot her a withering look. "You know that Muggle saying 'Those who can, do'?" She nodded impatiently. "Well, those who can't, write a bloody book about it."  
  
Her foot stopped tapping. Suddenly, the pitch was achingly silent. Oliver knew he'd said the wrong thing by the hurt that welled up in those pretty brown eyes. Immediately the Flourish & Blotts parchment rose up in his mind. Before he could remove his foot from his mouth, the lovely young professor turned on her heel and walked off the quidditch pitch. "Hermione!" he called, reaching in the direction of her receding back. He took one step and tripped - over the broom he'd given her the day before.  
  
  
A/N: Whoa! I feel as though I got loads of bad press on that last chapter. I'm through apologizing for it, but I will say that it's HIGHLY unlikely you'll see such utter melodrama again in this tale. But I think we're back on track with this chapter. So please, everyone, fear not!   
  
And sugar-n-spice - I definitely wasn't going for any mystery. I mean, it was totally obvious, I think, what was happening. Thanks for your obviously disgusted review, though. Really! I appreciate your honesty. 


	18. Hysterical Women and How to Help Them

Author's Notes: So much for happily ever after, eh? The complicated knots of Hermione's life would take anyone years to untangle. But we've only got a few more chapters.   
  
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are culled from the Harry Potter series, and belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Warner Brothers, etc. Not copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 18. Hysterical Women and How to Help Them  
  
So this was what it was like to be Ron, Oliver thought. It had been three days since he'd accidentally insulted Hermione out on the quidditch pitch. He'd tried to apologize a dozen times, but she either studiously ignored him, or shot him scathing glances hot enough to burn his eyes out. Oliver didn't quite know what to do. On one hand, he could treat Hermione like every other woman in his past...except she wasn't quite an angry ex-girlfriend. On the other hand, he could try to make peace...except Hermione Granger in a temper was not a pretty sight. Or actually, she was, only he couldn't allow himself to think that way. The Weasley temper was famous - it went with the hair - and Oliver didn't want to think what Ron would do if he learned that Oliver was beginning to think of Hermione in a less-than-platonic sense.  
  
***  
  
For her part, Hermione wasn't quite sure why she was so upset with Oliver. Yes, he'd put his foot in it, but surely Ron had said worse things. And if she was honest, she'd admit that she'd said worse things. The note she'd left for Ron the morning after Jamie was born, for example. The memory filled her with self-loathing.   
  
Alone in her rooms, Hermione was filled with anxious energy. She sat on the edge of her bed, bit her lip, shot up, paced across to her desk, riffled through a sheaf of papers she still needed to correct, turned around, gazed at the fire, strode to the window, looked out, and sighed heavily. Well, there was nothing else for it. She went to the mantle, opened the small pot stationed there, and tossed a pinch of dust into the flames. When they glowed a lovely shade of green, she called for her best friend. "Ginny?"  
  
But Ginny didn't answer. Harry appeared. "'Mione? Ginny's...indisposed just now." He chuckled. "Jamie had - I think she called it 'a blowout.' I never knew something so small could overflow his nappy like that. Should I have her floo you back when she's finished?"  
  
Hermione smiled, a little painfully. It still hurt to hear about Jamie, or any baby for that matter. No matter how disgusting it may have been to have to clean up a child that had just soiled himself from head to toe, Hermione's heart ached for the chance to do it.   
  
Apparently some of her feelings were clear on her face, because Harry stepped through the fire. "'Mione, what is it? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about Jamie."  
  
"No, it isn't that," she demurred, ashamed to find tears in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away. "It's just - I just..."  
  
"You can tell me."  
  
"It's everything!" she burst, and the floods poured forth. "It's Ron, and Oliver, and Jamie, and teaching, and flying, and my book, and my baby, and you and Ginny, and everyone else!" She began pacing again, and now the tears flowed freely. "Why is my life like this? Just when I think everything's going well, something happens and throws all my plans to pot. First Ron came back. Then he disappeared again. And then he came back. And then Hogwarts. I was pregnant, then I wasn't. And Ron disappeared again. Do you know I haven't heard from him since I lost the baby, Harry? Not a word, not even a whisper! But it was okay, because Oliver was here for me. We were becoming quite good friends, if you can believe that I'd purposely cast my lot with yet another Quidditch-crazed man. He's been brilliant, Harry, really. And he almost got me up on a broomstick!"  
  
"Voluntarily?"  
  
"Voluntarily!" she repeated. "But Harry, he's no more trustworthy than anyone else. Just when things were going well, he went and ruined it. You can't trust anyone, Harry. If you do, you're bound for heartbreak and disappointment. And I'm just...just sick of it!" she finished, hurling herself into the tall wing-backed chair on the left side of the fireplace.  
  
***  
  
Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair and wondered how on earth he was supposed to deal with a semi-hysterical woman like Hermione. It had been difficult enough when they were all students, a little more challenging in those seven years when Ron was in the States. Now, he was sure it was nigh on impossible. He wished Ginny was here. Doing battle with the Dark Lord was one thing. Dealing with hysterical women was something else entirely.  
  
"Shh, don't worry," he soothed, rubbing her shoulders and racking his brain for what to do next. He tried to comfort her. Tried to tell her Oliver wasn't such a bad guy. Tried to remember what he'd done when Ginny had had hysterics after her miscarriage. Of course, he recalled ruefully. He'd just flooed Molly to come and take care of her daughter. That wasn't going to work in this case. He really wished Ginny was here. She'd know what to do.  
  
Or Ron. Ron always could handle Hermione in all her moods. Hmm... That idea had merit.Sure, Hermione would probably be furious with him, but Harry didn't mind. He could handle her anger. And he knew that she needed to see Ron, whether she wanted to or not. And Ron was becoming insufferable with his self-pity. Maybe...  
  
He decided it was in everyone's best interest, not least his own, and reached into Hermione's pot of floo powder.  
  
***  
  
Ron was beginning to really hate the holidays. Christmas had been a test of his mental fortitude. Bill and Acacia had finally (after almost ten years together) decided to make it official. He'd proposed to her on Christmas Eve, in front of the whole family, to the tune of a dozen romantic sighs from the women of the family. And when 'Cacia accepted, the place erupted in cheers. His father had decided to make a toast to the happy couple. Ginny immediately began planning bridal showers. Penelope accioed a stack of bride magazines she still bought whenever she spent an afternoon among Muggles, and Mary and Gwen attacked them with gusto. Fred and George clapped Bill on the back and tormented him with a number of pranks for the rest of the holiday. Charlie and Irina, who couldn't be at Percy's for Christmas, nevertheless sent an owl with a singing card.  
  
All Ron could think about was Hermione. He'd slunk out as soon as he could, and spent the rest of the holiday alone and miserable in his flat.   
  
And now the New Year was coming up. Another holiday to spend holed up in his flat thinking of Hermione. He knew he was just pitying himself, and he knew he could easily change things, just by flooing Hermione. But he was...afraid. There. He'd admitted it. He was terrified that Hermione would still be angry with him for not being there when she needed him most, and that she would send him away forever. The possibility haunted him, waking and sleeping, and he preferred not knowing to being sent away.  
  
Not very Gryffindor of him, he knew. But sometimes love interfered with logic.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
He turned toward the fireplace, and saw Harry's face in the green flames. "Harry? Where are you? That doesn't look like your house."  
  
"I'm at Hogwarts, Ron," the face in the fire replied. "Hermione was looking for Ginny, but all she got was me. I'm no good with hysterical women. Ask Ginny. You understand her, though. You mind coming in here and giving me a hand?"  
  
Ron thought a moment. "I don't know, Harry. What if she doesn't want to see me? Seems like all I've ever done was ruin her life."  
  
Harry swore - quite creatively, in fact - and Ron's eyebrows shot up his forehead. Harry hardly ever swore. "Listen, mate. She's your bloody girlfriend. If she didn't want to see you, she'd have sent you packing ages ago. This is Hermione," he emphasized, "the girl who's put up with us since we were eleven, the woman who took you back after seven years of total silence. D'you honestly think anything you can do now would make her hate you? Now get your arse over here and comfort the woman before one of us goes completely mad!"  
  
***  
  
Hermione looked up from her torrent of tears when Harry threw the floo powder into her fireplace. She listened to the interchange, hiccoughing ever once in awhile with a residual sob. But when Harry finished shouting at Ron, she chuckled. "Harry, am I driving you mad?" she asked.  
  
"Because if I am," she continued, uncurling from her chair, "I'm sorry. You don't need to stay." Harry turned and shared a look with the face in the fire. Ron nodded, and in another moment, he stepped out of Hermione's fireplace. She could from the looks on their faces that her oldest friends were a bit concerned for her state of mind. And well they should be, her conscience told her. You've been acting like a madwoman.   
  
Well, perhaps she had. But who else had more a right?  
  
Pathetic excuse, Granger.   
  
Stubbornly, she shook her head. It was time she acted like a normal witch, instead of an overly emotional wreck. She'd been excusing her behavior for months now, even before she lost the baby, and she knew she'd been driving everyone mad. Harry's outburst had finally made her see what she'd been doing. And she was through with that.   
  
"Harry," she began, "thank you for listening to my tirade. I'll be okay now, I promise."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"Promise," she repeated.  
  
Harry, who felt he'd done his duty by his two stubborn friends, shrugged, and took his leave. He promised to send Ginny for an afternoon in Hogsmeade soon.  
  
Hermione then turned her eyes upon Ron, just feasting on the welcome sight of him. Ron, with his hollow-eyed look of worry. Ron, with his robes hanging off his body where he'd lost weight since she last saw him. Ron, with soot dimming the fiery brightness of his red hair. Ron - her Ron. How had she managed to live without him for so long?  
  
"Hi," she said softly.  
  
"Hi," he replied.  
  
And then she was in his arms.  
  
  
A/N: I know it's not exactly elegant online etiquette to post a dozen review responses at the end of the chapter, but sometimes I can't help myself. Please forgive the breach.  
  
yr awen - Your message totally made my day and inspired me to hurry along with this chapter. No, I haven't read "Private Lives," but I've heard of it. Sadly, I am a pathetic reader (as I am reminded every day at work), and I haven't read anything! ...Okay, so that's an exaggeration, but thanks for the suggestion, and for the message!  
  
Gambit & Wolvie - Thanks for the consistent reviews. I'm so pleased that people out there really find this effort worthwhile!  
  
sugar-n-spice - You are fabulous. Don't be ashamed. I love an honest review. My ego is big enough already, so I have to be thankful for a review that doesn't inflate it even more...  
  
Molly - Yes, a dysfunctional relationship is a good relationship...only, not really. If this story would stop running away and form itself to my preconceived parameters, there would be less dysfunction. But it's got a mind of its own now, and I'm never quite sure where it'll go next. Hang on for the ride! 


	19. Jumping to Conclusions

Author's Notes: Hurrah! Together again! Thanks, everyone, for sticking with this story through all the trauma. We're nearly finished now. I think.  
  
Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter. Well, except for well-worn copies of the books. But I am neither the creative genius behind the madness, nor am I the publisher or film company or anything else. Therefore, no profit is being made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended. Read at your own risk.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 19. Jumping to Conclusions  
  
Hermione sighed, a happy, contented little sound she hadn't made in months. Ron heard it and tightened his arms around her. They'd been sitting like this for hours now, she on his lap, he in one of her wing-back chairs. Initial snogging aside, they'd been talking. They'd talked about the baby, cried together over their loss, and agreed that, when the time was right, they'd try again. They'd talked about their past, their future; Ron managed not to mention marriage, and Hermione was a little miffed that he didn't bring it up. Hermione told him about her students, the teachers he remembered, the ones he didn't - particularly Oliver Wood - and her friends in Hogsmeade. Ron told her about his uneventful trip to Bath, and the drudgery of Auror paperwork. They talked about Harry and Ginny and Jamie, and Ron told her about Bill and Acacia's big announcement.  
  
"Good for them," she said with a smile. "They've been waiting for a long time."  
  
Ron peered at her, trying to gauge Hermione's feelings by the soft light in her eyes. She just tilted her head slightly and snuggled closer. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and said, "Hermione -"  
  
Someone was banging on the door. "Hermione! Professor Granger? 'Mione, come on. Don't you reckon this has gone on long enough? Just let me apologize, will you?"  
  
Hermione jumped out of Ron's lap, startled. Ron, too, stood up. She looked at him. "It's Oliver."  
  
"Oliver Wood?" Ron asked.  
  
"Yes. Just a minute, Mr. Wood," she called. To Ron she whispered, "You have to go."  
  
"I have to go?" he repeated, a little confused.  
  
"Yes." She was pulling him toward the fireplace. "Dumbledore - because of Voldemort - he asked the teachers - all the staff, really - to make sure that our guests... Well, you weren't supposed to come through the fire."  
  
"But Harry -"  
  
"Well, Harry's different, isn't he? Boy Who Lived, trained by Dumbledore - Oh, Ron, would you just go? If Oliver finds you here...I haven't spoken to him since Christmas. All he has to do is let it slip that I've had unregistered guests in my rooms, and I'll be out -" She was speaking in low, rushed tones. Tones that didn't exactly invite Ron's trust.  
  
"But I -"  
  
"Shh!" Oliver knocked on her door again. Likely he could hear her talking. "Just go, okay? I'll send you an owl."  
  
"Honestly, Her-"  
  
"Ron, please!" she almost shouted. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? "I'll get you clearance. I promise. But for now, you have to go!" With that, she reached into her powder pot and flung some floo powder into the fireplace. "Ron Weasley's flat," she whispered, then pushed him into the green fire.  
  
"'Mione, I have clearance!" he shouted as he disappeared.  
  
She stopped still, and gazed helplessly into the green blaze. Her chin dropped to her chest. Why, oh why, did these things always happen to her? Of course he had clearance! her sensible mind shouted at her. How else would he have gotten through the Hogwarts barriers? She wanted to throttle someone - herself. How daft could she be? Surely it was obvious now that she in no way deserved the title of smartest witch in Britain. Greatest fool, perhaps. Prat of the century? She felt shamefully foolish. Foolishly ashamed. She desperately wished she still had that Time-Turner from her childhood. Perhaps McGonagall...?  
  
No. She'd have to fix this mess herself. No amount of magic would clear this up. She'd have to do it the old-fashioned way.  
  
Beg.   
  
Grovel.  
  
Admit she was wrong.  
  
Lord, how she hated doing that.  
  
Oliver knocked again, and Hermione snapped out of her distress. "Coming," she called. She would have to floo Ron later.  
  
***  
  
Ron tumbled out of his fireplace, irritated and not a little bit confused. What was going on? Of course he had clearance. Dumbledore had been at the Ministry one day in September, and he'd told Harry and Ron about the extra wards put up around Hogwarts, and he'd given both of them the proper spells and charms to pass through. "Knowing how important Professor Granger is to you both," he'd said, particularly to Ron. "But see that you tell no one." And they hadn't. Ron had filed the information away in the back of his mind, thinking he'd never need it. He'd expected Hermione to owl him with a proper invitation. Silly of him, really. Hermione hadn't been herself since she found out she was pregnant.  
  
Still, she was the smartest witch he'd ever known. Surely she could work it out for herself that if he'd been able to pass through the fire into her rooms, then surely he had gotten clearance. Everyone knew that there was nowhere safer - or more protected - than Hogwarts. It didn't make sense that Hermione couldn't put two and two together.   
  
It was almost like...she was hiding something.  
  
Ron shook his head, sending a shower of ash to the carpet. No, that wasn't it. What could she possibly have to hide from him? Nothing.   
  
Unless she was hiding him from someone?  
  
Sod it, he told himself. This was Hermione. The irritating love of his life. Everyone knew it. It had been in Witches Weekly, for crying out loud. No, he'd just been spending too much time at the office. Seeing secret conspiracies everywhere could make a wizard suspicious.  
  
But why had she been so worried about Oliver Wood?  
  
No - it was useless. He'd not get a minute of peace until they worked this out. He reached for his own pot of floo powder. Then he thought the better of it, and decided to have a shower. Better to be prepared.  
  
***  
  
"Come in, Mr. Wood," Hermione called. She moved to her desk, and began to go through the papers waiting there.  
  
Oliver appeared behind her chair and put his hands on her shoulders. "I thought you were going to call me Oliver, 'Mione."  
  
She twisted around in her chair to face him. "Yes, but that was before you slandered my work out on the Quidditch pitch, Mr. Wood."  
  
He sighed heavily. "Ah, go on, 'Mione. You know I regretted it the minute I said it. I didn't mean it. And I've tried to apologize a hundred times. Reckon you'll ever let me?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip. In truth, she'd sorely missed Oliver's friendship over the past few days. She thought about one of her favorite Muggle films, and paraphrased the line. "You hurt my feelings excruciatingly, Oliver."   
  
"And I'm sorry!" the flying master burst out. "You don't know how sorry," he added with a bit of a Canadian accent and a knowing wink.  
  
Hermione did a double take. "You - how...Oliver Wood, have you seen -?"  
  
He grinned. "Aye, that I have. Put three Muggle girls together for any length of time, and sooner or later it'll come up." He winked again. "I've a second cousin who's muggle, and I spent plenty of time watching her over the summers."  
  
She laughed. He laughed. And that was it. They were friends again. She offered him a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted - these castles were drafty. "You don't mind wizard brew, do you?" she asked. "I'd make it the Muggle way, but...I haven't the best of luck with tea kettles." She held out a cup and saucer to him, and they sat, companionably, in front of her fire. He queried her about her tea-making skills, and she told him, laughingly, about her foiled attempt to make tea for Ron the night Jamie Potter was born.  
  
"...And the worst of it was, he'd already healed my other hand earlier that day!" She shook her head. "Ever since Ron came back, I've lost every bit of cleverness, Oliver. Really. Around him, I'm hopeless."  
  
"I doubt that, 'Mione," he replied with certainty. "Dumbledore's forever after the rest of us to ask for you when he's busy. That old wizard's sure you know everything there is to know."  
  
She snorted into her tea. "Don't be a prat, Oliver. I know that's not true." He just shrugged. She set her tea down on nothing, quickly mumbling a charm to keep it steadily afloat. "You're only giving me a big head," she warned lightly. "And I don't believe you in the least."  
  
Oliver nodded and sipped his tea. "It's true. Why, just the other day, he told me that if I had a question about one of my students, I should ask you. 'Just don't ask her about flying,' he said. 'Professor Granger may know a great deal, but when it comes to flying, she's anchored firmly to the earth.'"  
  
***  
  
My, but she was something else when the temper was on her, Oliver thought. The way she jumped out of her chair to argue with him - No wonder Ron Weasley liked to fight with her. Of course, Oliver hadn't really intended to start a row. He'd just been teasing her.   
  
"Here, now, 'Mione," he said, raising his hand in defense. "I was only having you on. Dumbledore knows you can fly, too. He's just a bit concerned you'll be too timid when the time comes."  
  
"Time comes?" she repeated, calming down.   
  
He nodded. "Death Eaters. If they ever get into the castle, we're going to need every teacher to fend them off. And that includes you, now you haven't an infant to look after." She blushed slightly, and Oliver saw her blink back an errant tear. He, too, set his cup on thin air and reached out for her hand. "I am sorry," he assured her. "It must be a hard thing indeed to lose a child. But it's a relief, too." She raised a brow, clearly not beliving he could say such a thing. "It's not safe, 'Mione," he continued. "A baby's the most helpless of creatures, and Death Eaters are heartless. They wouldn't spare your babe for all the tea in China. Better to wait awhile, until Voldemort's gone for certain. Then you can have as many children as you like, and with my blessing."  
  
She responded to the irony in his statement, avoiding the truth of his words. "Your blessing? Well, Ron and I will be sure to keep that in mind, Oliver." Then she smiled softly. "Thank you."  
  
Was she thanking him? For what? Oliver didn't quite understand, but he wasn't going to ruin this warm quiet moment to figure it out.  
  
And she explained it for him. "Thank you for caring, Oliver. You've been such a good friend since I came back here. I didn't realize how much I've been missing a good friend until we stopped speaking."   
  
She was already standing. She smiled when he did likewise. Impulsively, she reached up and hugged him close, sealing their friendship anew. She planted a light kiss on his cheek.  
  
And Ron burst through the fire.  
  
***  
  
He wasn't sure exactly when he'd decided he knew what was going on with Hermione and Oliver. But there was no doubt about when he knew what he was going to do about it. "So this is why you sent me off in such a hurry!" he roared, scaring Hermione and Oliver out of their embrace.  
  
"Ron!" Hermione gasped.  
  
"Yes, 'Mione," he answered sharply, "it's me. Ron. The guy you shoved into the fire just a little while ago." Oliver looked like he wanted to say something, so Ron pointed his wand at the former Quidditch star. "You. Stay there. Keep out of this."  
  
He turned his attention back to Hermione in time to see her square her shoulders. Raise her chin. Draw her hands up to her hips. Plant her feet. Turn a lovely - if furious - shade of red. Those cinnamon eyes that had looked at him with such trust - such love - less than an hour ago were now snapping with anger. She had assumed the position. He was in for it.  
  
"Ronald Weasley, you great prat! I don't know what gives you the right to burst in here and toss insinuations about like you know something, but let me assure you, you don't! Oliver has been a great friend. If you can't manage to act like a civil human being, then perhaps I should ask you to leave. You've no right, no right at all!"  
  
Ron blinked. And waited for more. Hermione never let her temper go with just a few short sentences. When he realized nothing else was forthcoming, he shot back, "If he's such a good friend, why did you tell me he'd report you to the headmaster if you were found with me?"  
  
Hermione blushed even brighter. "Because I'm a fool, Ron. I didn't think about your clearance from Dumbledore. Alright? Is that enough, or shall I get down on my knees and plead for your forgiveness? So I'm not as clever as I'm made out to be. Shall I turn in my robes now, or do you mind if I finish out the year?"  
  
Ron almost cringed at the Snape-ish sarcasm in Hermione's words. And it irritated him to no end. "Finish out the year! Finish out five! Seems you've made quite a cozy life for yourself here without me. Go on! Tell me!"  
  
"Tell you what?" she shouted back. Then, in the ringing silence, she repeated, quietly, "Tell you what?"  
  
Ron gestured to Oliver, who was watching the tempest with undisguised curiosity. "Tell me you don't want me anymore. Tell me you prefer him."  
  
***  
  
Hermione gasped. Did he really think that? Was it even possible? Prefer Oliver to Ron? That was nonsense! "That's nonsense," she told him.   
  
"Is it?" Ron asked, looking for all the world like a lost little boy.   
  
Hermione's heart melted. How could he possibly think such a thing? In the seven years he'd been gone to America, she hadn't had a boyfriend. Had barely even had a date. He could ask Harry. Or Ginny. They'd tried often enough to get Hermione to go out.  
  
And since he came back, and thrown her quiet life into turmoil, she hadn't been able to think about anyone - anything! - but him. Even with Oliver. It seemed everything she did, everything she said, with Oliver reminded her of Ron. Flying, fighting, joking - it was like being with Ron. Only, something was missing. With Oliver. Something she only had with Ron.  
  
Love.  
  
"Ron," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes as she crossed the floor between them. "Oh, Ron." She reached for his hands, then rose up on tiptoe to reach his lips. "Ron, I love you." She kissed him.  
  
***  
  
Oliver saw himself out. Some things were meant to be private.  
  
***  
  
After they broke the kiss, desperate for air, Ron took a step back. There it was. That blush that happened just for him. Lord, how he loved this woman. He reached into his pocket.  
  
***  
  
Hermione's heart leapt into her throat when Ron kissed the back of her hand. "'Mione, I know this may not be the best time. I know there may never be a 'best time.' But I know I love you, and I know I never want to be separate from you again. I need you." He pulled his other hand from his pocket and presented it to her, palm up, first finger and thumb holding out a delicate sapphire and diamond ring. "Say you'll marry me. Be my wife. My love. Forever."  
  
She colored prettily, and smiled up into his dear blue eyes, scanning the freckles that still dusted his nose, inhaling the piney scent of his aftershave, feeling the warmth of his words surrounding her like a cloud of the whitest white magic. And she nodded. "On one condition," she warned him, pointing in a no-nonsense teacher fashion.  
  
"What's that?" he asked, grinning.  
  
"Don't you ever doubt my love again."  
  
"I promise." He leaned closer, and whispered in her ear, "Don't you ever doubt me again, either."  
  
She turned her head slightly, and smiled. "I promise."  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, here's your trivia for the day. What's the movie Hermione and Oliver ? If you know it, I will be super impressed, and totally thrilled.   
  
Ooh, whatever will happen next? I suppose, if you ask my reviewer Molly, she'll say something like, "Big fight. Huge. One of them will stalk off in a huff." Fear not, Molly. There's just one chapter left. And we must have some closure, right?  
  
Jessa: Me, too!!! Well, maybe next time. Thanks for the note on the inconsistencies. I do apologize. Sometimes I wonder if my characters have developed MPD (but that's nothing to joke about...). I'll try harder to be consistent in the future.  
  
And to all my reviewers for that last chapter: Wow! My heart is full. You have given me hope, that maybe, someday, I really will be able to write. For real. Thanks. Seriously. Thanks! 


	20. Full Circle

Author's Notes: For those of you who have faithfully read and reviewed, here it is: The End. I hope it's acceptable - I'm far better at middles and beginnings than ends. Oh well. MizuFaia - I know, I do have several mistakes. No, I don't have an editor. I don't even have spell check. My mistakes come from laziness, I'm ashamed to admit. Most of these chapters are first drafts. Sigh. The secret is out. I'll work harder on my next story. Promise.  
  
Disclaimer: Bla bla bla...I don't own anything Harry Potter, and I don't intend to earn any money from this story, it all belongs to JK Rowling and various and sundry publishers, bla bla bla - no copyright infringement intended.  
  
  
Honestly, Hermione  
Chapter 20. Full Circle  
  
Oliver Wood, Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was enjoying his breakfast of eggs and rashers when the morning post owls swooped through the Great Hall, delivering mail and nibbling toast. He heard Headmistress McGonagall's warning just in time and ducked as a familiar barn owl with russet feathers whooshed past his ear before landing on the Head Table. Oliver took the parchment that was tied to the owl's leg and read it quickly.   
  
Oliver -   
Your godchild's ready to be born.  
Come quickly.  
- Hermione  
  
Oliver grinned. Excusing himself from the meal, he handed the parchment to the headmistress (Albus Dumbledore had fought valiantly but ultimately fallen during the War) and hurried away to a place from which to apparate.  
  
***  
  
The waiting room was full of Weasleys. It seemed (to some of the mediwitches and -wizards, at least) that the waiting room was always full of Weasleys. Ginny, who had received her healing certification a few years back, greeted the nurses she knew and laughed with them about the ever-expanding Weasley brood. Her laughter, though, wasn't as warm as it used to be. As her eyes passed over her family, gathered once again for a joyous occasion, she couldn't help but notice the holes that shouldn't have been there. Charlie was there, but his wife, Irina, had died a year before Ginny had received her healing certification. Two of Bill and Acacia's children had been murdered in a Death Eater attack as they walked through the crowded London streets with their Uncle Percy.  
  
Percy.  
  
He, too, was gone. Ginny may have thought him an insufferably pompous ass when they were younger, but...but...he'd died trying to protect Bill's youngest two: Geoffrey and Zoe. And everyone felt the loss. Penny most of all. With six children (Paul, Priscilla, Patrick, Patience, Preston and Pamela) and no Percy, she was adrift. Molly (recently widowed when Arthur had been lost in battle) had welcomed her widowed daughter-in-law and six grandchildren into the Burrow with open arms. It had been several years, but Penelope was only just beginning to return to her former state.   
  
Fred and George had emerged from the Final Battle relatively unscathed, but it had been two years before they'd been able to put their minds to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes again. Even now, Ginny sometimes caught a glimpse of shell-shocked despair in their bright and laughing eyes. They were a lot quieter now, and not quite so keen to scare the daylights out of people for the sake of a good joke.  
  
Ginny and Harry had suffered losses of their own. Their daughter Lily Olivia had been struck by a deflected curse and had been petrified so terribly that when she finally came around, she'd lost all her senses and was now a hollow shell of a girl her parents came to St. Mungo's often to visit. Ginny cried heavy tears when she thought no one was watching, after seeing her child at St. Mungo's. Lily Olivia was ten now. Were it not for Voldemort, the war, and that deflected curse, she and Ginny would be talking about Hogwarts next year, spending one last year at home together, and putting together all sorts of care packages for Jamie and all the Weasley cousins at Hogwarts. But Ginny had deflected that curse, and now...in the dark hours before morning, she blamed herself for Lily's half-alive state.  
  
Harry walked with a decided limp (by the grace of all that was holy, his only injury from the Final Battle) and had a haunted look in his eyes: he'd watched Voldemort kill one friend and protector after another before Harry finally managed to destroy the Dark Lord. Ginny shuddered to think of the horrors Harry had seen - horrors he still would not reveal to her. He tried to convince Ginny that it was not her fault that Lily Olivia was the way she was - after all, Ginny had saved her from death - but he had his own demons and could not quash this one of Ginny's. Thus, though they were fortunate enough to have come through the war alive, and though Jamie was untouched, the Potters were not whole.  
  
And that just left Ron - well, Ginny amended, Ron and Hermione. Somehow the pair of them had managed to continue their lives as though Voldemort had not risen again, and as though war had not obliterated the magical world they once knew. It was impossible that they be any other way. No matter how awful and hopeless the big picture seemed, Hermione and Ron were often so completely immersed in their own unending arguments that they couldn't have cared less if Voldemort had camped out on their doorstep. In fact, Ginny thought ruefully, woe betide any Death Eater who caught Hermione on the warpath. She had that certain trace of McGonagall about her that commanded respect and brooked no argument. The legendary Weasley-Granger squabbles seemed to assure the rest of them that life would go on. Ginny smiled, remembering...  
  
***  
  
Hermione had flooed Ginny the moment Ron left. Ginny had just finished cleaning up Jamie and was not in the greatest of moods. In years to come, Hermione would understand only too well what it was to clean up a "blowout." But just then, baby poo was the furthest thing from her mind. "Ginny! Ginny! You'll never guess. Well, I suppose you will. And I suppose you'll tell me it's about time -" she was getting off track - "but never mind all that. I need your help."  
  
Ginny blinked uncomprehendingly at her friend through the green flames. But as she registered Hermione's goofy grin and semi-hysterical cheer, she began to understand. "...Ron?" she asked slowly. Hermione's grin only grew. The next instant, Ginny had stepped through the fire.  
  
They planned the wedding that night. It was like old times, Hermione thought. She and Ginny holed up in Hermione's rooms, talking and giggling and dreaming about the future. Ginny, to her everlasting credit, didn't make one "it's about time" comment. And she agreed to act as Hermione's matron of honor. She promised on Harry's behalf that he would stand up for Ron. Hermione insisted she wanted a small ceremony, with a intimate group of friends and family. With the Dark Lord still wandering and regrouping, both women thought it best to attract as little attention as possible. Besides, Hermione wasn't really a flamboyant personality.  
  
And it had been a beautiful ceremony. Small - compared to Ginny's wedding, perhaps, but not exactly small in the strictest sense of the word - it had taken place in the candlelit Muggle chapel in which Hermione's parents were married. Harry and Ginny had been the only attendants, but most of the Weasley clan had turned out for the long-awaited event. Hermione had never looked more beautiful. Her gown shimmered gold and Guinevere-like in rich velvet, with a low waist coming to a gentle point in the front and a deep square neckline that framed her face and neck as though for a portrait. A richly embroidered veil worn by all the Weasley brides and passed down for generations hid her face as she moved fluidly down the short aisle. Under the veil, her wild mane was caught up in a loose Gibson knot, with delicate tendrils trailing abut her shoulders. Ron wasn't the only one who gasped at bookish Dr. Granger's delicate loveliness. And all through the small gathering, not an eye was dry as the once-star-crossed lovers pledged their troth in the age-old enchantment from the Muggle prayer book.  
  
And when it was over, it was as though nothing at all had changed. Ron and Hermione bickered on their way to the reception, about who would say what first. Harry and Ginny, riding in the same car, chuckled.   
  
"Ron, you're daft. Of course Harry will speak first. It's his job, as Best Man, to make the speech and toast us. Then, if she wants, Ginny can speak. And your father, if he has anything to add. But not you, Ron. We're just meant to sit quietly and accept their well wishes. You cannot make a speech!"  
  
She was getting red in the face, but Ron, apparently, had had a dash too much firewhiskey to get him through the pre-wedding jitters. He didn't even notice. "Harry - Harry, man, back me up. Tell this woman that if I want to say something, I can."  
  
"Er, Ron -"  
  
But Hermione hadn't let Harry get a word in, in case he sided with Ron. "Listen to me, Ronald Weasley. You will not stand up and make a fool of yourself at my wedding! Now stop acting the prat."  
  
"Your wedding!" he shot back, incredulous. Even Harry and Ginny were a bit surprised at Hermione's choice of words. "Your wedding? Sorry, I must've missed something. I thought it was our wedding."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked out the window. "Oh, Ron, everyone knows that the groom doesn't care a fig for the ceremony. Ginny and I planned it all, didn't we? All I mean is you've had enough firewhiskey already, and champagne and cream stout and Witches Brew is not going to make your vocabulary any stronger. Better to leave it up to someone else, than risk being made to look foolish."  
  
"Oh, yes. Mustn't look foolish. Must avoid that at all costs, yes? Honestly, Hermione. Sometimes I wonder if you married me in the hopes of turning me into someone else."  
  
Her eyes softened, and her voice turned endearing. "Ron, you know that's not true. I don't want anyone but you." And she leaned in to kiss him.   
  
At that, the argument was over. Harry and Ginny pretended to turn their attention elsewhere, but both had trouble hiding their amusement. At least they had finally got past that holding grudges phase. It had been so tiresome continually attempting to repair Ron and Hermione's relationship.  
  
***  
  
Twelve years, one Dark Lord, dozens of casualties, two award-winning books by Dr. Granger-Weasley, and six children later, Ron was about to get his wish. In the birthing room, he swabbed Hermione's forehead with a damp cloth and tried his best to coach her through the process. "You're doing brilliantly, 'Mione. Really. You're almost there."  
  
She only snarled at him. "Honestly, Ron! I'd like to see you squeeze a watermelon out of your body!"  
  
Where had he heard that before? "You're beautiful, 'Mione. Really."  
  
"Ginny, tell this git husband of mine to shut up before I hex him into next year!" she shot back. Never one to have an altogether even temper, labor did not bring out the best in Hermione.   
  
Ginny just giggled. "I wouldn't do that, 'Mione. Imagine seeing after seven children without him. Henry alone would drive you mad." Henry was Hermione and Ron's second child, a wild but brilliant child, who seemed to have inherited the most extreme traits from each of his parents. Hermione both dreamed of and dreaded the day he went to Hogwarts.  
  
Hermione went back to concentrating on expelling this child from her body. Gritting her teeth and pushing with herculean effort (whoever said it got easier with each child clearly had not been a witch), she screamed as, finally, she gave birth. The baby squalled, and the door burst open.   
  
"Am I late?" asked Oliver Wood. Hermione laughed at her friend through her tears and fainted.  
  
***  
  
Hours later, after the celebrations were finished and the well-wishers had all gone their separate ways, Hermione and Ron and all their young family were settled in for the night at the magically enlarged "family room" at St. Mungo's. Hermione glanced around and whispered her thanks to the heavens for such a blessing. Ron, alive and well and now a member of the Ministry of Magic, loved her as much today as he had when they were at Hogwarts. Hermione taught a few specialized courses at Hogwarts, but with such a young brood, she spent most of her time at home, where she continued to write important Arithmantic texts. Though she and Ron still fought (often from nothing more than habit and passion), she couldn't imagine herself with anyone else.   
  
They had come through the War intact, and at the end of it, they'd been surprised with another child. Now there were seven: Kate, Henry, Romy, Athena, Owen, Declan, and infant Esme. Hermione was thrilled that most of them had the Weasley hair, while Ron had always unconsciously favored Athena because she hadn't. Kate was eleven, the little mother to the rest of the children, and she spent a great deal of time with her Aunt Ginny and Gran Molly. Henry, a year younger, was as much trouble as Fred and George and Ron bundled together, and (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on what sort of mischief he'd gotten into) showed promise of being quite as brilliant as his mother. Romy, at eight, showed little interest in magic but had the extremely rare ability to float on air; she loved to fly. Athena was the most outgoing of the children, though she was not quite six, and she could charm candy from Professor Snape (whom she'd met at her mother's last book-signing). Owen was three, and a bit of a mystery. He had been conceived just after the Final Battle, in which Harry had defeated Voldemort once and for all, and it seemed that Owen had retained a trace of that catacalysmic event. One-year-old Declan, Molly assured Hermione, was Ron, all over again. This gave Hermione no end of joy, and she liked to remind Ron of it every time he had a blowout (i.e.: soiled himself from head to toe).  
  
"Ron," Hermione whispered, as she held her seventh child (already blessed with wiry red hair that did the Weasley name proud). Ron, bouncing Declan on his knee, looked up. "You know, we have a whole Quidditch team now."  
  
A grin broke over Ron's face. "Want to make it two?" he asked with a suggestive wink.  
  
Hermione stifled a laugh, unwilling to wake Esme, and shot him a dark look. "Oh, honestly, Ron."  
  
"Honestly, Hermione," he mimicked, right before he kissed her.  
  
  
~ Fin ~  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. You guys are fabulous. Thanks for tolerating my errors with such equanimity (I just read through the whole thing again, and shuddered at all the mistakes I made), and for giving me so much encouragement and criticism. Now I'm pondering what to write next. I did have that angsty bit I was working on months ago. And then there's Oliver to write about (lovely lovely man, Oliver Wood)...Where to next? I am accepting all suggestions.  
  
ps- angie: yes, I've read a few of the Left Behind books. Where did that question come from?  
  
bean, Ginny Potter, Li'l-Brown-Jug-Head, Jessa: Right in one! It was Anne of Green Gables that Hermione and Oliver both knew. Sigh. Don't you just love that film? Hmmm.....mayhap I'll watch it right now!   
  
LadyChi - Thanks for your overall review. I'm working on the detail thing. Stay tuned! 


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